


A Shadow Named

by MsBluebell, Naz_Artz



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Except Jeralt forgot one, F/M, I'm not joking - Freeform, Multi, Seteth and Rhea are siblings, Slow Burn, There's a lot of Headcanons, Twin AU, and extra background story that I will do my best to address, cause y'know Rhea legit forgot to tell him the other on was alive, in the notes, it's Misunderstandings the novel, that's what happened
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:14:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 47,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23624443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsBluebell/pseuds/MsBluebell, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naz_Artz/pseuds/Naz_Artz
Summary: Jeralt was told by Rhea that she could only save one child, and Jeralt pushed the choice onto her. In the end, Jeralt ran but with one, the only one he thought alive, and Rhea grieved for her family she thought dead. And just like how her grief over her mother pushed her to create her daughters, Rhea did the same to bring back her grandson.The only one she thought was alive.***Updates every Saturday
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth, Hilda Valentine Goneril/Claude von Riegan, Jeralt Reus Eisner & My Unit | Byleth, Jeritza von Hrym & My Unit | Byleth, My Unit | Byleth & Rhea
Comments: 61
Kudos: 164
Collections: BBell's Discord Grave, Bylad_The_Eldritch_Horror





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yet another one, you may think we're overworking ourselves but you fail to realize we have these things saved up, oh yeah we got these backed up, this one is a little over 100k+...So don't worry, we're not straining our hands.
> 
> -Mod Naz

The winds were howling.

Tis not often the lad listened to the noise of the wind over the washing of the tides, but wind and tides worked together harmoniously to move about the flower of things to come. As such, when the winds howled, this lad was forced to listen, for it was warning that the tides had turned and what would be would soon change. So the lad sits still, letting himself become lost in visions of things yet to be. He witnesses the today, looking for what turned the tide so.

Ah, today was the day, the one where he must face true erasure from the heart of his mother.

He had hoped he had more time.

The boy, named Byleth, a wish of his departed mother, stands. He folds down the fluttering bits of his clothes, pulling up his hood to cover the whole of his face. Across from him, his mother, who is actually his grandmother, looks up from her prayers. The Lady Rhea, the archbishop of the great church of Garreg Mach, the tribute and religion of the Goddess Sothis.

"Byleth?" His mother looks away from her work overseeing the priests that mill about. This lad is allowed to stay here when he wishes, he has no true duties of his own, only what he pleases as the son of the archbishop. Normally, this lad would be about, with his only friend, a stalwart knight of death, or his cousin Flayn. Or he would be attending choir. Or healing in the nursery. But he always knew today was different, even if he had forced himself to remain ignorant of how different. 

"Lily Mother." The lad folds the hood tighter over his head, nervous with the truth, "Today the tides have turned. Soon this lad shall lose his name."

He always knew this day was coming. He'd known for years. And yet he is no more ready today than he had been when he first realized. Soon he shall fade, a mere shadow in the background, no more than a single plucked life among many. He will both fade from his mother's head and everyone else's regard, for soon his beloved Butterfly Sister shall come.

And, ah, how he wishes he could equal up to her glory. But alas, he is but a pitiful shadow, not the candle in the dark room, or the wings that bring about change. Her life shall shine bright, and it is she that shall decide what tides shall turn, whether glorious or tragic. All shall love her, and hold her high in regard.

And this one will watch, a mere spectator.

His mother frowns, lips turned towards, "Why would you say such a thing Byleth? You can't lose your name."

A shadow can, and he will, for he shares his name with the Butterfly. Her name, too, is the one gifted to him. For he was named for her, gifted it when Lily Mother believed the elder twin dead and gone in the flames, unknowing that she yet still drew breath. That the Caramel Father had awayed with her into the night, under ghost shadows and stars. She is Byleth, and he is Byleth. They are twins. But they cannot both be Byleth, and he is less important.

The bell rolled twice, the sun, the leering lecherous sun had reached it's zenith. Bylad returned to his Shadows, it was where he was meant to be. Soon, soon the Butterfly would flap her wings apace, through the long ivory halls to the Lily Mother's stage. Here he would forever lose his name.

A name that was never truly his.

Bylad would suit this husk, he thinks, yes. He is a Shadow of the Sister, and therefore should be named for her. He sits against the pillar of white stone and awaits the Caramel Father and Sister to join them. 

Soon.

_ Soon. _

The hood is pulled over his temple, the house of his knowledge, in the shade of the pillar he finds solace in knowing the Shadows would never forget him.

* * *

There was an air of nostalgia and longing as Jeralt walked through the halls towards the Antechamber. 22 years ago, he walked through then proudly. Feeling like he was making a difference by serving the Church, it felt good being able to stick it to his old man like that.

Now...it didn't feel that good being back. Jeralt was tense the while walk-up, Byleth walking behind him, with questions in her eyes and anxiety in her step. He could feel it coming off of her, though he was sure no one else would notice.

Would things have been different, if he had stayed, and raised his little girl here? Would she had been safe behind these walls, would he be worrying this much if they never left? Yes, in fact, it would be worse. Every time he left, he'd get more and more scared about Byleths' upbringing. Leaving was his best option.

Even if that meant all roads led back here.

"Father?" He turned back to look at his daughter, he lips in a thin line, arms at her side, the picture of calm. But her eyes...Sitris' eyes.

"I'll explain everything in due time kiddo," Jeralt assured her. Walking through the door, to sell his life for a second time.

He had hoped it would never come to this, that he would never have to tell her. It's dangerous here, and he didn't want her ignorant of that danger. He's given her a basic rundown of his past, the most bare-bones. Whatever Rhea had planned for her back then, it would no doubt start up again once the archbishop set eyes on her. She'd had a special obsession with his kid, something that went beyond what was expected, he thinks.

He doesn't know. His wife was, technically, Rhea's daughter. How much did mother's typically mourn their children? He wouldn't know, his mother didn't give a shit about him.

Whatever the case, he knows he made the right choice. He knows it every time he looks at his girl and sees she's alive and free of whatever it was Rhea had planned to do. So all he could do was square his shoulders and stand his ground, ready to stand behind whatever bullshit spilled from his mouth. 

The inner chapel was the same as it had always been, not changed a single bit from the day he had left. It was filled with an overbearing quiet, and those stained glass windows shone almost blindingly against Rhea as she stood in the center of the room, a familiar serene smile painted on her lips.

There was a time where that sight was the most comfortable thing that Jeralt knew, but now all he could feel was unease. Rhea descended the small steps, her hair bouncing and accessories jingling with each step she took. The light cascaded over her body, and she stepped away from the light and towards them, that serene look still on her face with every step she took.

Beside her were two other men. One with a head of green hair and formal clothes that spoke of rank in the church, and another with equally fine clothes, darker, with a hood hiding his face. Jeralt wonder at that one, wonders if Rhea found herself a dog.

"Thank you for your patience, Jeralt. My name is Seteth. I am an advisor to the archbishop." The green one speaks. Jeralt almost snorts, because since when does Rhea actually need advice from anyone?

"Right. Hello." He answers briskly.

"It has been a long time, Jeralt," Rhea speaks, and she doesn't even sound angry with his deception. Just calm and serene as always. He expected something angrier, something more barbed. He did fake his death, after all. but that Seteth advisor of hers actually looks angrier than her, his eyes set into a harsh glare on his person. Maybe that man is just generally angry, though, because Jeralt hasn't actually done anything yet. "I wonder...was it the will of the Goddess that we have another chance of meeting like this?"

There she goes, with the Goddess again. Though that's to be expected, she is religious. Still, she's too calm, and he doesn't like it.

"Forgive my silence all these years. Much has happened since we last spoke." He bullshits first chance because he had no intention of ever coming back. Not ever. And the only reason he's here now is because he was backed into a corner.

"So I see." Her eyes flicker over to his daughter, trailing her body up and down, studying her. Jeralt feels a pang of protective annoyance at that but forcibly keeps himself still. No need to start something right now. "The miracle of fatherhood has blessed you. That is your child, is it not?"

She's playing dumb. 

Well, if she's playing dumb than he'd do so too. He isn't giving her shit. "Yes...Born many years after I left this place. I wish I could introduce you to the mother of my child...but I'm afraid we lost her to illness."

Beside her, the hooded boy squirms, clearly uncomfortable with this conversation. He looks away, not daring to grace Jeralt and his daughter with his gaze. Maybe he can sense the underlying tension in the room too, and is smart enough to keep his mouth shut. Whatever, Jeralt doesn't care about a lacky.

Rhea's eyes flicker in the direction of the hooded boy, her eyes growing worried, before returning to focus on Jeralt. Odd. So the boy was important to her on some level and judging by the glower her advisor had set on him, she was also very important to Rhea. 

It felt an awful lot like...

No. She couldn't have a child again, or any more, not at this age. If rumors were to be believed, and he rarely out stock in Church rumors, he was an adopted child. Jeralt didn't believe it at the time and refused to. But as they said, seeing is believing.

"My condolences," Rhea said, setting her gaze upon Byleth, Jeralt forced every muscle in his body to bit tense up, he couldn't give anything away, "As for you...I heard of your valiant efforts from Alois. What is your name?"

Jeralt turned to Byleth imperceptibly and gave her the go-ahead to say her name.

"Byleth, my name is Byleth," she said. The air grew still, and Rhea's eyes grew wide, her head beginning to turn in the direction of the hooded fellow beside her before she stopped and locked eyes with Jeralt. In her eyes show any emotion, Jeralt never saw before, but Sitri had often told him about it.

Confusion.

She'd always seemed sure and confident in all that she said and did during his service, and now she looked more unsure than usual.

"A fine name it is," Rhea said at last, though the yes flickering in his direction spoke of words she'd want to exchange later. The first fight of many, Jeralt was sure, between Mother and Son-in-law.

"I am sure, Jeralt, that you are aware of what I am going to ask of you?" 

"You want me to rejoin the Knights of Seiros, "there were two things she could possibly want, the other was off-limits, he'd brawl her right here in the audience chamber if need be, "I won't say no, but..."

"While your apprehension stings," I know you don't want to come back," I had expected that Alois would have already asked this of you," They need you, please," I must step away for now, but Jeralt..."

They locked eyes once again.

" **⟨A word in my office, when all is said and done⟩** ," Rhea ordered, though her eyes shown with pleading. He wanted to give her a vague response when he really meant no, but given her confusion from before, the Eisner curiosity got the better of him. Especially when she so brazenly used the language she shared only with Isolde.

"Of course Lady Rhea."

The hooded boy followed after her, and he swore the glimpse of his eyes looked exactly like Sitris'.

_ Exactly like Byleths'. _


	2. Chapter 2

The lad had, of course, known this day would come. It was a certainty, one of the few things all the tides had in common. Or, at least, the tides he dare gaze into. His sweet Butterfly Sister is here at long last, and following her will come the love and adoration of all.

_"My beloved."_

_"My teacher."_

_"My friend."_

_"Mother."_

This lad, since he was small, and his sights where those of a child, knew she would be loved by all. Where she was made to flourish no matter the tide, he was made to fail. He was a child of jumbled words and crooked speech, incapable of forging a connection. He...is not liked. He makes those around him uncomfortable, with his blank stares and his too much knowing, and his words he cannot make work in ways that others understand. He scares them, not in fearful ways, but in ways that make the skin crawl and the vessel shiver.

"Mother." The lad reaches for his Lily Mother, his grandmother, the maker of the one who birthed him. Long has she raised him for her machinations, only to fall short of her goals. The Sacred Grandmother, the Goddess, had not come to take his flesh vessel, as he knew she wouldn't. For the Goddess has taken form within his Sister's heart, and it is only within her she shall awaken. He was but an extra, a disappointment to mother that she was forced to live beside. Now the Butterfly has returned home, and with her mother's hopes. "Mother, this one will be Bylad now."

Lily Mother frowns at him, her delicate lips pulled into a frown, and he knows he displeased her. His existence is displeasing, but he knows that soon the disappointment shall fade and be replaced by the love she had longed to feel for the Butterfly, the better child. "Byleth, you do not have to change your name."

"She and this one both cannot be Byleth." He knew this from the start. He knew this well. There cannot be two existing in the same tide. It is she or he, and most will pick she to be Byleth. "This one cannot be Byleth. That is _her_ name."

The Lily Mother's face warps and tightens, disappointed in his name choice, a mere copy, a Shadow of his Butterfly Sister. Perhaps he shouldn't try and grab hold of whatever sliver of light he could grasp in his talons. 

Yet another thing to dislike him for, his unnatural speech. A deformed aspect of his being he could not change. Did the Butterfly Sing as he did, would she be loved for it despite his own tongue?

"All right," the Lily Mother's voice draws the lad from his musings, her face serene and at peace, no doubt wanting to appease him with his choice, "From today onwards you shall be known as Bylad."

He nods, the movement disturbing his mask coverer, adjusting it he walks along the long halls to the terrace to the heavens. Every day at noon, Lily Mother and he hold a small ceremony with Leaf Juice and sugary confectionery. Tea Time the Lily Mother and Sister-Daughter had called it. 

Brown Ceremony was the name he had dubbed it, and he was wont to change now, the Butterfly had opened her wings, their love, and adoration hers to earn.

"So, are you excited to meet anyone this year, Bylad"the Lily Mother began, as she steeped Apple-Leaf Juice for him, and Saint-Leaf juice for herself. The Lily Mother was mildly disappointed with his distaste for her favored brown water, though Bylad wanted to believe it was because his own womb-mother had disliked it as well. 

" _Friend-Hilda..._ " He spoke, nibbling on a biscuit, soft and full of nuts and chocolate.

"Ah, the Goneril girl," the Lily Mother's eyes lit up with joy, no doubt wanted to change topics away from him,"Yes, you were excited to meet and become friends with her, yes?"

Fried Hilda was a selfish wish the shadow held within its blood pump. She was of the few that could hold a heart for the shadow, though even she will flutter to the Butterfly's side should she choose the tides that could steal her away. If sister were to choose the tide of Golden Deer or Blue Lions, Friend Hilda could be swept away. He dares not peek into the most like tide to pull them, dare not see. He has seen them play out dozens of times, but soon the chance to change shall pass them by.

He mourns the losses he shall suffer through all of them.

"Friend Hilda..." His gloved flesh talons caress the spoon of his leaf juice. He wishes with all his blood pump to befriend she, but could he? _**Dare he**_? He would be but a passing fancy in the trails of her living. And should sister choose the path of Black Eagles her fate shall surely...

"This one does wish the friendship make." The lad now called Bylad admits to the mother who shall find her love faded soon. This is the last day of love, he realizes, and he is wasting it on talk of things that may not be. He is irrelevant, and the tide flows. He looks into the leaf juice, frowning at his milky reflection, and wonders what Friend Hilda would even see in his person when the Butterfly is so near. "But this one is unsure if such a friendship would be wise."

"I do not see why such a thing would be unwise." His mother speaks, soft and smooth, just as it was with the lullabies she oft sang him to sleep with. "In fact, I think it would be quite beneficial for you to make connections to others."

Would it? Mayhaps. Or was this the beginnings of mother's distances? The first sign of what is to come, and the madness that could so easily overtake his mother, the woman that had raised this vessel at her own breast since infancy. Mayhaps he should try. Befriending Friend Hilda does not interfere with the tides, he thinks, and though she, too, shall choose sister over he in her heart, he is not abandoned, he can exist as her doll, and he could be happy, perhaps.

 _If_ Friend Hilda will take him.

"This one will reach out his hand in friendship." He tells his mother, so she will be comforted and undistracted as she pursues that which is truly within her heart without guilt. Though she will never with her own mother again meet, he is loathe to steal her attentions from that with which she wishes to give her attention. He has, forever and always, been second in her heart, and she who raised him in such kindness deserves to pursue her heart.

"Good, good." Mother's shoulders ease, and she is happy, so this lad must have done correctly. Her lips purse and she takes upon a most careful voice as her tongue speaks, "And...what of our new guests."

Ah, the Caramel Father and the Butterfly Sister. Lily Mother is testing his resolve, his faith in her task. But she need not, for he will stay out the way.

"This one will not interfere with their lives." He promises, twirling the tip of a gloved flesh talon within his milky sweet leaf juice. "This one knows his place is not...he shall in the shadows remain, as he has always."

* * *

Rhea's smile fell. Her grandson was inches away from being reunited with his sister and father again. They were so close, yet he would not reach out. She wondered was it because if the Crest within the other Byleth? Or rather just Byleth, as much like a Butterfly or Moth, he had shed his old name for a new one.

But...she began to second guess all the decisions she'd made to get here. Hiding a half-dead baby boy from his father, because his wife was dead, and that baby Jeralt had held in his arms was only saved because Sitri gave up her own heart. Rhea couldn't promise she could do the same for Byle—Bylad. But she did, she did manage.

After Jeralt had disappeared after he ran off with Byleth. Only then did an epiphany appear in the shape of a Crest Stone she had buried deep within the Tombs. The Crest of Ashes. Her Uncle, the long-forgotten... Byleth. Was this her fault...for not trying faster, for not using all her resources fast enough?

"By-lad...don't you want to try, try to reach out and get to know your father?"

Bylad shook his head, nibbling on more pastries from the tower, and swirling his sugar spoon in his cup.

"What about your sister?? Byleth?" Bylad seemed to fold in on himself, the very name causing him to shiver and shake. Was he so opposed to meeting Byleth? Rhea put herself in his shoes, to imagine what he felt.

She could not choose as he did. She couldn't, it was very lonely after Mother was– _it was lonely_ , the nights were long and hard, and the world wasn't very kind. But to never have known her brother's, to ignore her only chance to know them, to know even Eithniu? Rhea could not choose as he did.

"Well, that's fine then," she said, and he stopped shaking so, "if you want to go meet her, you can. And if you never want to see her...well that's alright too." 

Rhea circled the table, pushed back Bylad's hood, she had a very strong feeling he'd never pull it down now that Jeralt and Byleth had arrived. She bent down to lay a kiss on his forehead, and into it said," You will always be my darling grandson, my child."

Bylad, the voice in Rhea's head reminded her, that sounded exactly like Eithniu, gripped her skirt tightly and shook and shivered. She held him tightly and ran her fingers through his hair. The color of her dearly departed daughter...the only copy, she had ever raised by hand.

The archbishop pulled away from her son, to study his face. He was so much like his mother, just has odd, just as awkward and creative and talented. Though he had more troubles than she. Troubles expressing himself, troubles communicating. She wonders if such things are her fault, the mixed results of a poor birth and a crest that burned abnormality into his soul. For his first few years, he never cried, or laughed, or even smiled.

Sometimes she wonders if those rare moments of expression he shares with their family, with her, are real, or if time just healed that unease. Or, perhaps, that had been the sheer dept of his inability to express who he was and how he felt.

She wishes she could understand him now, understood why he was making this choice.

"Byle...Bylad." Changing his name would take time to get used to. She brushes a strand of dark hair behind his ear, thumb caressing his cheek, "You know I cannot hide you from him, yes? I have to inform him of your existence."

His lips curve downward ever so slightly, the barest hint of an expression. Barely there, so subtle she almost had not seen the change. " _Why?"_

She frowns, hand cupping his cheek, "I cannot hide you from him forever, even if I wanted to. He's going to find out about you eventually."

She'll have to approach the subject delicately, carefully. Jeralt has never been a temperamental or emotional man, but there are clearly limits to his seemingly never-ending calm. The fact he had fled her for twenty years is proof enough of that fact.

He may very well get violent.

Bylad turned his eyes downward, staring at his feet. He had that same slight frown painted on his lips, deeper now. Noticeable now. He raises his arms, warping them around her, letting his face fall against her shoulders, seeking comfort. Something he had very rarely done over the years. "This one... _cannot._ "

"Oh." She sighed, running her fingers through his hair, "Oh, darling. You don't have to do anything. You owe him nothing."

"This lad...must remain in the Shadows, he begs of the Lily, to spare him this ordeal, he wishes not to be known," **Bylad** pleaded with her. Rhea continued to massage his scalp, easing whatever fear her grandson had. Why did it scare him so much, the thought of seeing them? Bah, it didn't matter, he didn't want or need to see Jeralt, and while Jeralt more than likely changed much over the years, she was sure of one thing...Jeralt would have never told the oth–Byleth about her brother.

Jeralt wouldn't see the point in it, and Rhea could understand that there wasn't any need to tell Sitri that she was merely a copy of 11 others. And while not seeing Jeralt ever was something she would accept...she'd have to scheme some other way to get the two siblings to cross paths.

"Alright, you'll still have a full run of the grounds, and I expect you to go outside for a few hours each day," Rhea insisted, partly because staying inside all the time wouldn't be good for his health, and secondly he wouldn't cross paths with his sister otherwise.

Bylad accepted that and grabbed another pastry, biting into it and swallowing it in large pieces before continuing the process again and again. Large tears, bubbled in his eyelids, as he did so and Rhea wiped them away not asking a thing. Poor boy, perhaps he thought there would be no room in Jeralts heart for him, and she didn't know if there was or not. But despite never meeting her Granddaughter, she was sure there was room in that girl's heart for a brother.

If she was anything like Sitri, she'd be drawn to Bylad, like a Butterfly to a Flower.

Rhea was sure of it, he deserved to know his sister.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some things to go over:  
> Sothis is the Beginning and we racked our brains around thinking well if there's a beginning surely there's an end, thus Byleth was born!! As in, Byleth was the name of Sothis' Godly brother, he's affectionately called Godleth in our server cause well...F!Byleth took his name and all.
> 
> Anyhow, Byleth is not at all going to be someone cruel or wanting to take from Bylad, if anything this plays with the idea that Bylad, who can see the future(s) sees how important his sister is in the greater narrative of Three Houses and has...developed an inferiority complex surrounding that. He does, however, love Byleth very much, he's seen every twist and turn she's made, even one's he thinks are wrong.


	3. Chapter 3

Byleth didn't know what to make of anything, the grounds, the halls, the student classrooms, her fellow future Professors, her future students, The House Leaders themselves. This was new territory for her, she had never been in charge of so many...green lives before. All her charges in the past had some skill as a mercenary and all that it entailed.

These students couldn't be more innocent or naive, not to mention how many of them reeked of money and demanding authority.  They didn't know how hypocritical they all sounded when she spoke to them over the course of their journey here.

At least she knew who would be the easiest to teach if she chose a house.

"Choose one yet?" Her father asked, he was already going through the papers and books in his former office, now newly returned to him.

"No...but I do know which one would be the easiest to teach," she replied, taking a seat across from his desk. She tried to imagine him sitting there every morning signing papers instead of being on the field training the new recruits. It was a funny thought that pulled the corners of her lips.

"Oh really who– _ Hey _ is that a smile?" She cast a glance in her father's direction, he had his hand on his hip, looking down at her with pride, and though she could not pull the smile again, she felt warmth fill her chest. This feeling was...happiness.

"Well I'll be...maybe...No, never mind,"her father quickly dismissed the thought, instead sitting behind the desk and organizing the papers there,"Well, which one do you think is the easiest?"

"The Blue Lions."

Her Father's face fell slack, this wasn't the emotion Byleth thought her statement would elicit, her father picked up on her worry and waved it off. 

"No, it's nothing like that, I'm not disappointed or anything I just," he paused, as he always did when he had something of importance and great weight to say," You really are my daughter."

"What does that mean?"

"Before I was a Knight of Seiros...I served the Kingdom, it's just...funny to me. That you would see the Faerghan children as the easiest to deal with," he gave a hearty chuckle at the idea, reaching over to ruffle her hair,"Guess the Eisner blood runs strong in you."

"What does our last name have to do with my choice?"

"I never did tell you that, did I?" Her father scratched his beard, leaning back against his chair and letting out a deep rumbling from the back of his throat. His hands crossed, folding over his broad chests as his eyes rolled back, lost in memory long past. "I'm actually part of a noble house."

That...was a surprising fact. She studied her father, his attire, his demeanor. Nothing about him seemed noble to her. Not in the slightest. And she can't imagine it either, not after a lifetime of living as a mercenary, on the road. Sleeping out of tents and taverns didn't seem very noble to her.

"I'm not surprised you don't believe me." Her father scoffed, leaning back leisurely. "Don't overthink it. You may not realize it, but you're letting your own lack of experience color your vision."

How odd of him to say. Doesn't she have much experience in the way of battle and reading others? Isn't that why she's here right now? Or is it her general lack of experience interacting with the nobility? So far her interactions had been limited to quick exchanges with clients and the nobles they had traveled with, neither of which was anything like her father.

"I suppose it doesn't matter." Her father determined, reaching to scratch the back of his head, "You'll learn in time. Just know that I grew up noble, a Faerghus noble at that. No major house. We're minor. But it's just...funny to me I suppose. No one else would say dealing with Faerghus anything is easy."

There's a lot of information being shared, both said and unsaid. It leaves questions, such as why her father never utilized his connections with a noble house, their apparent family. Perhaps he is only a distant member of the family? Then again, he had never utilized his connection as a former knight of the church either. Or even seen fit to teach her of the church. There's much he hasn't shared, for reasons that only he understood, and she was not caring enough to ask after his reasons. She trusted his judgement.

Her father leans forward, "Letting out a breath. It doesn't matter, that's all in the past now. And it can stay there. I haven't seen the family in years before you were even born. So don't think too much about it. You're the only family I have that matters."

There's something unfamiliar to her that strikes inside of her, a...something. It's something, and it makes her impulsively want to reach for her father. She is not, however, too unfamiliar with the strange instinct. "Yes."

"Good. Good." Her father reaches over and pats her shoulder. How strange, her father has never been one to so outwardly express his affection. Moments such as these are rare. This conversation must have held more weight for the man than she had realized.

"Don't forget it kid." Her father brushes back some hair from her shoulder.

Byleth nods her head in understanding, and sets her gaze in determination. As much as the idea of having to teach Greener than Green students of a --rich-- prestigious academy unnerves her, she'll do it as she has done everything else in her life. Efficiently with little complaint. Not that she wouldn't be thinking it.

**_⟨You talk to yourself an awful lot⟩ Sothis commented from beside her.⟩_ **

Byleth held back a sigh, she had forgotten about the imp from a few days ago, and she was hoping it would stay that way.

_**⟨How rude!!⟩** _

Ignoring her, Byleth made to stand, soon enough she'd have to present Rhea her decision. While before she was undecided, she was now sure that she should choose Faerghus, if only to be close to some part of her Father's past. Not to mention how proud his smile was when she spoke of the Lions.

Yes, she'd choose the Lions.

"Going to give her your decision?" Her father asks, and she nods making her way to the door, her father's sighs. Looking back she sees him eye all the paperwork on his desk with thinly veiled disgust. Byleth may never discover why her Father left the Monastery some 20 odd years ago, but she thinks it's be funny if it was to escape the boundless amounts of paperwork.

Making her way down the hall, she stops short of the audience chamber; her future fellow professors, Manuela and Hanneman are already waiting, looking about ready to fight. 

As if anticipating this, the audience doors opened wide, allowing them entrance, Lady Rhea and Seteth in the back of the room. The former looking serene as always, her smile implying a secret on her lips. Seteths own face is a conflicted mix of annoyance and intrigue.

"Before we begin," Rhea said,"I have come to this conclusion after careful deliberation, considering how close in age Byleth is to our students, it was suggested that she be their combat instructor instead."

Byleth felt her stomach drop, she was hoping...

"This way,"Rhea explained,"all of our students will get an equal amount of experience and learning from an experienced Mercenary such as yourself."

"Oh." Was all that left her lips. She wouldn't question the change in decision, the whys behind the change was not at all relevant to the work she was being assigned. It may even be easier to simply become a combat instructor. Then all she would have to do was oversee basic combat training. She won't have to grade papers, or oversee personal development, or lead them on assignments. Objectively, it makes more sense for a mercenary with no formal training in the care of students or instruction to take such a position. But it's oddly...off putting. She had been expecting to take her position as the Blue Lion's instructor, and now there's an odd nagging at the loss of position. 

"But, wait." Manuela protests in her stead, "That's not fair, you're basically demoting her the same day you gave her the position."

"And it leaves us short of a homeroom teacher." Hanneman hums, rubbing his chin.

"I thought about my earlier proposal for you to teach, and I realized it was unfair to you." The archbishop explains, though Byleth had not been the one to demand an explanation. Though it is beneficial to know for certain nevertheless. It will give her a glimpse into the way the archbishop's mind works, and let her better calculate her possible interactions with the woman in the future. "Throwing you into a position such as the homeroom teacher for a major house is unfair to someone with no prior experience. While I have no doubt in your ability, I have since realized that it would perhaps be more fair to you if I gave you a position such as this."

"She looks smart." Manuela protested on Byleth's behalf, though it is unnecessary. Though she does feel an odd ache at the loss, she will not protest the change. It is, ultimately, the wiser choice. "I'm sure she can figure it out. There's no need to demote her. Besides, we don't have anyone else."

"I was considering speaking to professor Jeritza about a promotion." Rhea states evenly, folding her hands, "And having Byleth take his former position."

_"Jeritza?"_ Hanneman raised a brow.

"No offense Lady Rhea, but Jeritza is barely qualified to be around people, much less to lead a class of children." Manulea protested, "And he can't be any older than the professor here. He's only about twenty-one years old."

"And he has two years of teaching experience to Ms. Eisner's none." Seteth spoke for Rhea. Though he had seemed hesitant before, he has chosen to support her decision whole heartedly, "If Ms. Eisner wishes to continue teaching next year, she may take up the position as the head of a house then, but for now the decision is made, if she so agrees."

"I have no issue with the decision." Byleth shook her head, because it was, in fact, wiser than giving her a homeroom position.

But she did feel somewhat disappointed that she could not teach the children of Faerghus. However, this presents the opportunity for her to interact with all the students... including the ones that sparked her interest in other houses. Perhaps she could even suggest interhouse class sessions?

Ah, she was getting ahead of herself.

"Wonderful,"Rhea praised her serene smile growing wider,"Then I'll entrust the combat instruction to you, now regarding the House Leader..."

Byleth tuned out the rest of the meeting, not casting even a glance at the Jeritza fellow who chose to lead the Blue Lion House leaving the Black Eagles to Manuela and the Golden Deer to Hanneman.

Though she did get to see the most amusing sight between the three teachers.

"I do hope that you're aware that I will be taking Linhardt from you," Hanneman said, glaring at Manuela.

"Hmph, you can try, Linhardt moves for no one," Manuela bit back.

"He will if you take Caspar," Jeritza commented before striding out the door. The other professors hot on his heels. Byleth figured she should follow Jeritza and ask questions regarding the students and what was expected of them before she lost him.

"Byleth," Rhea called,"A moment if you will,I have a...favor to ask of you."

The young woman stopped, turning to face the archbishop. She would simply have to track down the man later to ask of her duties. For now she would indulge the Lady Rhea in whatever favor she may ask, so long as it was within reason. "Yes Lady Rhea?"

The woman folded her hands, clasping them in silent prayer. Beside her, Seteth stared at her with a grim faced frown, but remained silent, jaw tight. The archbishop closed her eyes, exhauling, before opening them again, "It is...in regards to my son."

Ah, the archbishop had a child, then? Interesting. Was he a student in one of the classes? If so then it was likely Lady Rhea was going to beg her not to be too harsh on him, or would warn of personal concerns she had with his behavior. She did not see what she had to do with such a thing, though, as that would be better for his homeroom teacher to address. Was something hindering his combat ability, then? It seemed the most likely situation, "Is there something in regards to his health I must know?"

The archbishop blinked, frowning. She shook her head, the dainty headpiece dancing with the movement, "No. No, he is no student."

Then she failed to see how Rhea's son was relevant to her and her duties. Nevertheless, the archbishop was asking this of her, and she was essentially the woman's employee for the time being, so she listens, waiting for an explanation.

"I will...detail the situation regarding Byle... **Bylad** with your father once he settles." The woman's hands squeeze tightly in their hold. Seteth's head snaps toward her, his eyebrow raising, jack tightening its deep clench. But the Lady Rhea ignores him, her green eyes shining with something deeply regretful, "It is...a _delicate_ situation, and one that your father will share the details of once I tell him, no doubt. I just wish to warn you...Bylad...he's such a delicate boy. He's...your age. And he has a...I suppose it is a curse, you may say, and it's left him with a rather...delicate disposition. And he does things that seem strange to most."

"Bylad is a seer, you see." Seteth spills it plainly, and Byleth is grateful for the bluntness. Rhea's explanation was vague, and odd, and unnecessary. Seteth's simple explanation left her with far more awareness of the situation and how she should handle it. "He cannot speak plainly because of it, and his words are often frustrating and confusing to those that do not know how to interpret them. He will seem too personal when speaking to you, he may accidentally insult you, and he will act in ways that seem odd. So we ask you to remain patient with him if he speaks to you."

The Lady Rhea frowned deeply, her eyes downcast in deep regret, "That is...most of the issue, yes. However, there is more to the situation. I will...share with your father. He can explain better than I once he is made aware. All I ask is that you please keep in mind that Bylad is...he is a good boy, he means no harm. He just doesn't understand..."

The archbishop trails off, her words dying on her lips as she stares off into the distance, eyes clouding with something unknown to Byleth. She shakes her head again, "I will explain to your father."

Byleth nods, though she is left no clearer regarding the situation, her father's warnings echo within her mind, she should be wary of Rhea...but what of her son? If he is a Seer, he'll already know about her stance towards the Monastery, and her wariness of Lady Rhea...what exactly did him being a Seer mean anyway? Too many questions, none of which Rhea would answer, she'd have to let her father know.

"If that will be all?" Byleth asks. She recieves a nod from Rhea, as Rhea's face returns to a calm and serene smile, dismissing Byleth from the chambers. She doesn't miss the frown Seteth shoots at Rhea, as Rhea turns away deeper into the audience hall. The doors close, locking her out of whatever was going on in there.

She needs to let her father know. Before he gets jumped in surprise, while he definitely always seems to be aware of what's going on, she's the only one in the troupe who knows Jeralts face of neutral indifference is what masks his constant state of not knowing what's going on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, if you've read other fics like Cult of Seiros, Mountain Queen or Eisners Return, you'll know exactly what House Eisner is in terms of relations to the kingdom at large!!
> 
> I won't go into too many details since everything will be revealed here all in due time, so we ask that you be patient as everything will be revealed


	4. Chapter 4

Jeralt wants to say he got some of the useless paperwork done, that he's been competent enough to finish all these Ina e requests the Nobility seems to think the Church can fix when their own systems don't let them have their way. But the fact is he hates most of these Noble's and is worried about his daughter.

Faerghus was a long time ago, and while he's been in Faerghus for jobs, he's never been the one to talk to any of the Faerghus clients. It's been a good half-century, it's not like any of the people who knew him would live through that plague, let alone the riots when the _Mad King_ Maglor Blaiddyd was ruling. But the memory, the air, the inflection in their voices for a tongue almost foreign to him.

His bones ached, his blood stirred, it longed for the Mountain. It longed to go home.

But he hadn't heard tell of any Eisner leaving in years, he briefly wonders if they all died there, he wouldn't put it past his father decreeing so, after the way Jeralt had left. He'd left home behind, believing it was right, and the left to save what little happiness he'd found because he was so, so wrong. And now...almost 70 years later, 20 spent on the run...he's back where he started.

His daughter, his only daughter, his only child that lives is back where he never wanted her to be. Being incites too many contradictory feelings, it's so hard to not let them show, Sitri and his son's grave are right outside his window. Just below.

A cruel reminder of the life he'd left behind, the people he'd abandoned. All the stories of Faerghus dead are returning to him now, and he wonders, did he do everything properly. Did he lay her to rest comfortably, was his son's soul well? Or was it stuck in the ley-lines and had been for 20 years...was that why Byleth couldn't feel, didn't have a heartbeat?

So many mistakes and they're all coming to bite him in the ass now, he takes a long deep sigh and pushes away from the desk, ready to drop onto the couch when the door opens.

"Hey," he greets Byleth, her face blank as ever, though her brows are slightly furrowed,"How'd it go?"

His daughter stands there, barely a hair's breadth between her and the door. There's not even a tilt to her head as she stares at him, and over the years he hasn't come to expect there to be. It's been both a blessing and a curse in equal measures, and there's no part of him left that can be elated or disappointed by her numbness. 

"I won't be teaching the Blue Lions." She tells him, and he feels his eyebrow raise at that.

"Someone else pick em before you?" He asks, though it'd be an idiot that picked em. But have been another newbie punk that didn't know what they were doing and thought picking from the Holy Kingdom would be easiest. As if anything that ever came out of a frozen, isolated, mess like Faerghus was easy. No way were any of these kids functional. Not with what he heard happened to the prince, and especially not with the way he heard the King Regent handled his nephew. 

~~_Still better than fucking Maglor._~~

"I've been demoted to basic combat instructor." She explains, but, strangely, she moves her hand as she speaks. That's something she's been doing the last two days or so, since Remire, and it's something he can't help but take note of. She doesn't normally move at all when she speaks, not unless she was in the middle of a task or combat. Moving while she was just standing there was odd.

"Oh?" He takes the excuse to place down his quill. It's a bit strange for Rhea to go back on something she had decided. But he can't say he's complaining either. Much as he loves his daughter, he doesn't think she's fit to be a teacher. Oh, she has the theoretical knowledge and skills, but she's less sociable than a brick to the face. Combine her lack of charisma with her low emotional expression and her youth and he doesn't see her garnering the respect she deserves. And homeroom teachers? Well, they have a hard as shit job. They had to curve all their students' issues and address weaknesses beyond tactical. He loves his daughter, he trusts her skills, but he recognizes this as the wise decision it is.

Still, it’s a little bit annoying, if only because of fatherly pride.

“I have been assured that, if I continue with a teaching career next year, I can use my experience and take a position as a homeroom professor then.” Byleth reports, dropping that hand.

It annoys Jeralt that Rhea assumed that Byleth would continue teaching after this year, until he realized that it was a very valid assumption. He’s the Knight Captain again, and what was Byleth going to do? Go off on her own? He wouldn’t stop her if she ever wanted to, but the thing is that she never did bother to. She’s never snuck out of camp, or dipped out to have a romp with someone that took interest, or gone off on her own. Rhea probably didn’t know this, but it still says a lot about what Byleth is going to do. So he can only sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose, “That’s not so bad. Could be worse.”

“She also told me her son is a seer.” She raises her hand again, “And that he may say things I would be uncomfortable with.”

Now that is alarming. A seer? As in someone that can see the future? Those were incredibly rare. Very, very, very rare. Well, that explains why Rhea adopted. Only a damned fool would let a seer slip through their fingers, though he’s surprised that she is being open about him and not locking him in a tower behind a team of guards and under lock and key.

Or maybe he’s being too harsh. He admits he’s being more than a bit biased from paranoia, his bitterness, and a brutally practical way of thinking that he sometimes wishes he didn’t have. Rhea, for all her sketchy bullshit, was still a kind woman that was trying her best to be good. She’s not going to lock a kid up like that, not unless it’s to keep them safe from themselves or others.

“She’s got a seer then?” He asks gruffly, because that’s still tickling his paranoia. Rhea isn’t acting like someone that knew they were coming, but still…

“She said it would be easier to explain the situation to you.” Byleth was still moving that hand, “The Lady Rhea seemed distressed thinking over it, and she seemed convinced that she could not explain the situation to me properly, and would have to explain to you instead.”

That had him suspicious too. Or maybe Rhea just didn’t know how to talk to Byleth. She was both everything and nothing like her mother, after all. And Sitri had effectively been Rhea’s daughter, in a way. Looking at Byleth must be like looking at a walking doll of someone that was long gone. Looking like her, but acting nothing like her. Byleth took after him too much that way. But still, it’s odd that she didn’t just have Seteth explain it…

_Oh, that must mean it’s personal._

Did that seer see something involving them?

“Well then, I better go see what she has to say.” He pushes himself up from the desk, grunting with relief. Though he’s not looking forward to alone time with Rhea, he’s glad to be away from this paperwork.

"Already?" Byleths voice holds a tint of surprise to it, and if Jeralt weren't her father he wouldn't have heard it either.

"Hey now, what's that supposed to mean?" He teases, this gets her to look away to the side, avoiding his gaze.

"Well, you're normally not this quick-to-well to do anything, you like taking your time," she said it like it was fact, but he saw the twinkle in her eye. Where on earth did she learn to make fun of him, maybe from the rest of the troupe? Oh he was making them run all sorts of drills once he got done with Rhea.

"You calling yer old man lazy?" He made his way to the door, Byleth stepping to the side to avoid his swipe.

"No...just _leisurely."_

"Yeah, yeah," he waved off her comment, his heart growing warm over her poking fun at him. It was nice, it wasn't the emotional response he'd hoped for when she was a baby, but these days, any sign was good enough. Giving her hair and affectionate ruffle, a gesture she often unconsciously leaned into he made his way to the Audience Chamber. The Noon bell rang, and with it the sound of students heading off for lunch.

"Byleth, might wanna head over to the mess hall," he called back, hearing a tiny gasp and the clacking of heels quickly sprinting down the halls. Laughing to himself over her antics, he strode up to the large doors. His laughter having died down.

Knocking to make his presence known, he strode in, Rhea's surprised face and her advisors glare greeting him.

"I heard from Byleth you wanted to speak to me?"

“Oh, yes.” Rhea folded her hands, her lips pressing in a thin line. “I simply didn’t expect you so soon.”

Probably because he doesn’t want to be here either, and she knows it. And Jeralt’s always been good at putting off what he didn’t want to do and making it seem like he had a good reason for doing so. And, considering he very obviously didn’t want to be here...well..

But he also likes to get shit over with too. It’s a duality he thinks he got from his father, or maybe he got from his mother, or maybe even got from his brothers. He likes to put shit off, but he also likes to get it over with, just to get past the awkwardness.

“Yeah, well.” Jeralt scratches the back of his neck, cracking it back into place. “Byleth made it sound important, so I figured I’d go ahead and get it over with.”

She frowns, and it’s an odd look on her. He doesn’t see her upset often. Her default expression is usually that serene smile. He’s only seen her lose that smile a handful of times, and they were all deadly serious. The last time he’d seen it was when Sitri…

Seteth coughs into his hand, catching their attention. He looks at Rhea, green eyes narrowed with exhaustion, “I assume you want privacy?”

“Yes, please.” She nods to him, and her smile hasn’t returned even with distraction. So, this isn’t only very serious, apparently it’s also personal.

_Shit._

He hates personal.

Objectively, he knows he has to talk to her. But objective doesn’t mean shit when his soul suddenly feels like it’s going to crawl from his body and throw itself into the sun. He hates awkward, and that’s what this is going to be. Awkward and emotional and tense. And he has a feeling what it’s going to be about. What else can it be but a confrontation on why he faked his death and took his daughter. 

He squares his shoulders. He’s Byleth’s father, he had a damn right to take her. He won’t let anyone tell him otherwise. Broken vows to knighthood be damned, Rhea’s position be damned, _**everything** _be damned. He doesn’t regret a damn thing. He had a good damn reason not to trust Rhea, and he still doesn’t trust her or her intentions with his daughter. Don’t get him wrong, he’s grateful she was able to save to save Byleth at all, but he doesn’t trust what she did or the way she was acting at the time.

The advisor nods, his own shoulders squaring. He stands, stiff back and rigid, gaze moving toward Jeralt and becoming distrusting. Boy, did this guy have the wrong instincts. Though there is something...oddly familiar about him.

“I will be in the waiting hall outside.” Seteth spoke, hands behind his back, sharing on last look with Rhea. His gaze softened, something between sympathy and genuine concern. It’s almost genuinely affectionate for a moment, and Jeralt wonders what Rhea had done to save him. 

She has that habit, saving people and inspiring loyalty in them. She doesn’t even want it, but they give it. He was one of them, once, and he hadn’t been the only one by a long shot. 

Seteth doesn’t say anything more than that. He just turns and marches out of the room, clicking the door shut behind him. And just like that, he and Rhea are alone, an awkward silence falling over them.

He waits a bit for her to start, but it seems that she’s in a rare state of not knowing how to begin. So he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck again, “Byleth said you had something you thought you needed me to explain for her, something to do with that boy of yours? She mentioned he’s a seer.”

Rhea inhales deeply, and he knows he hit the mark without ever even meaning to. Suddenly Jeralt is stiff again, because he thought that explaining the seer situation was just an excuse to get him alone, something she would explain before starting the real talk. But it looks like he was wrong about that. Yeah, the kid was important, and the seer talk was important, but more than that, it was part of the personal talk.

“Did you know we were coming?” Jeralt finds himself suspicious. He’s not sure she did, because Rhea isn’t acting like someone who planned to find them again. His office was clean, yeah, but there wasn’t a bedroom ready for Byleth and him yet. And she was jumping around on that teaching position.

“No.” Rhea shook her head, hands clasping together and head bowing, “Though, looking back, I should have realized. He gave hints, I think, though I did not understand them.”

Oh, so he’s one of those. Well, that or a swindler. But Rhea wasn’t in the habit of falling for scams, so he’s pretty sure the kid is legitimate. “So you’ve got a seer and expect me to believe you didn’t know I was coming?”

“He doesn’t share everything with me.” Rhea shook her head, sighing forlornly. “And even if he did, he pays for his gift with being incapable of communicating in a straightforward manner. It’s all poetic language and strange metaphors.”

Oh yeah, definitely one of those. 

But that didn’t explain how he was involved with this. Rhea adopting a seer isn’t too strange, but he shouldn’t have anything to do with it if the kid didn’t see him coming. Jeralt doesn’t have shit to do with seers. And, frankly, Rhea’s problems with her kid isn’t any of his business so long as she’s not being sketchy with him. He’s got his own parenting issues to deal with.

_...unless…_

“Is he... _did you make another one?_ ” Jeralt suddenly feels defensive, and angry. He shouldn’t be surprised she’d consider making another kid after Sitri, but he didn’t think she would. He had thought, at the very least, Sitri meant something to her. Enough that she wouldn’t just replace her with another creation. “Did you think replacing her would fill the void? Or did she just mean that little to you?

 **“How dare you?”** Rhea hisses, her eyes snapping up to meet his in an angry glare. Anger is the rarest emotion to find on Rhea, but when it’s there it’s terrifying. But he stands his ground, because he’s not the one in the wrong, “How dare you even suggest such a thing.”

 _“Did you?”_ He snarls, feeling his muscles tense. “It’s awful convenient, and the timing…”

“I gave up that work after Sitri.” Rhea snaps, her glare still on him, “I haven’t done such a thing in years. Do **not** try to turn this into something it isn't.” 

“Then what does this have to do with me?” Jeralt crosses his arms, “I’m not stupid Rhea. I can tell whatever is going on with your kid involves me. Or you think it does. So, what? If he isn’t like Sitri, and he didn’t see me coming, than what do I have to do with this?”

“You have everything to do with this.” Rhea’s hands are probably white knuckled beneath her gloves. She’s trying to force her face to straighten out, and she’s swallowing back her anger, he can tell, “I did not create him, or clone him, or birth him. It is nothing like that, and I haven’t even attempted such.”

“Then what?’ Jeralt crosses his arms, “Why do I need to explain anything to my daughter? What’s so hard to understand about a seer? What’s going on Rhea, just tell me.”

Rhea bit her lip, her fangs sticking out slightly, Jeralt was now on edge. He'd seen her fight before, she was brutal, there wasn't any grace to her movements, yes she knew swordplay, but by Tailtean was she brutal. He had yet to see that Black Goat from all those years ago return to these parts.

"He is...not like most Seers," she said eventually, her eyes looking away, her body tense as his own.

"So you've said, are you just going to keep repeating information? What's this Seer got to do with me?"

She wouldn't look at him, he arms clasped in front of her like normal, except this wasn't Archbishop Rhea she was dealing with, this was his Mother-in-law Rhea.

"I call him my son," she begins,"but I think you know that he is not mine by blood."

Jeralt huffed,"No shit, so what you're confessing to me that he's not your own?"

"No!" She said quickly, and immediately looked to be regretting it,"Well...he is of my blood yes but...he is not of my womb, no."

"So you did repeat those-those experiments?!" He accused, how stupid could he get, he almost believed that she would stop. But considering how beside herself she was following Sitris' passing.

* * *

 **⟨"Do not accuse me of that again!!"⟩** Rhea warned, her hands clenched in fists at her side, unconsciously taking a step in Jeralts direction, her eyes looking exactly as they were when he first saw her fight.

She only let up, and backed away when she said Jeralts stance go on the offensive. What was she doing?! This was her Son-in-law, almost her son with how close they grew in the days he came to serve under her and fall in love with Sitri.

He needed to know, deserved to, it was her own behavior that set him on this path, and it was by her own hand that things had ended up this way. They couldn't be at each other's throats for this. Jeralt deserved better. Byleth and Bylad deserved better.

"He is...my grandson," she said slowly,"He is my grandson by blood."

She could see the pieces being put together in Jeralts eyes, his tense form loosening but not by enough.

"That's impossible, you just said you had no other children after Sitri." 

It was factual and to the point, he was running from this too it seems. Hypocritical of her to judge him, she'd been planning on avoiding this discussion for as long as possible. And now here it was.

"He was born almost 21 years ago," she offered another clue, sadly, how cruel it was that she couldn't bring herself to speak this matter plainly either.

" _I_ buried _him_ ," Jeralt said, he had walked backwards into the door,"I buried them _both._ "

"And I _unburied_ him." Rhea states brutally, her hands clasping loudly, a whispered prayer to her mother leaving her lips. She can't stand to look at him, her son in law, backed against that door and doing this. She can't. She cannot look at him. "I barely waited a day."

"You what?" Jeralt snarls, and she does not meet his glare, but she knows it's there. She can feel it burn, sheering into her very soul. And he has the right, because her statement sounds terrible out of context. Still, she can hear him stomping forward, and see his shadow on the floor jab an accusing finger forward, " _How dare you?_ You had no right to disturb his grave!"

"And you had no right to bury them both so quickly!" She snaps her head back up to meet his glare with her own, "I know your customs, but I had time."

"You couldn't save her, she was already gone." Jeralt hisses, shaking his head, "And you could only save one babe with your method, you told me so yourself. So stop blaming me. I put their souls to rest, and you dug up his grave before the dirt even settled. What did you do with the body, Rhea?"

He's denying it even now, or just refuses to see. Perhaps he cannot allow himself such hope, or he is filled with so little hope that he dares not even consider the truth that lay before him. But Rhea cannot allow him to ignore the truth, because that would help no one, least of all her grandson. Her son.

"I found a way to save him, Jeralt." She tells him, and her lip trembles with the words. Because she can still remember that day, when she dug with her own bare hands until she found the stone that once made her uncle's heart, cold and foreign and whispering to her. Cold as ice and black as the void, sucking the very light from around her. But she was desperate, and went to the grave and dug with her bare hands until a babe with no breath was in her arms.

She remembers hugging that babe to her breast, and spilling tears because the stone in her hands was her very last hope for this life to be saved. She'd still had time, because not even a day had passed since the babe stopped breathing. So she spirited him away and did what she could, and over the next agonizing few days she hovered over the child, wondering if it had been too late to save him, or if the stone simply hadn't worked like her mother's had. She remembers the relief when it had worked, and the babe breathed, and his little eyes peered open, his hand moved to clutch her finger, a silent thank you for the life she had been able to give.

Jeralt sucks in a hard breath, a shocked breath, before steeling himself and growling out, " _Impossible._ That baby...his body was cold. He wasn't breathing. There's no necromancy in the world that could have brought the soul back after it was gone."

"You're right, there isn't." Rhea agreed, her hands tightening, "But it was not necromancy, it was divine, and I was able to find a way before the soul left the body."

She jerks a hand to the side, pointing. She doesn't know where, just away from them. She's has words to say, and she is going to say them, "That boy, Jeralt, that boy is your son. _I_ saved him. And if you had been here he would have had a father."

That set him off, she noticed, she'd struck a nerve, and she'd immediately regretting what she'd said, because her behavior following his daughters birth did not paint a trustworthy image of Rhea.

" _My_ son was resting beside his mother after _you_ told me that there was no saving him," Jeralt hissed, she could see the blood she had given him in his eyes," _You_ were the one who disturbed his sleep, and _you_ want to put the blame on _me_ for not knowing?!"

" **You left!** I didn't know where you were!" She argues, she saved her grandson, albeit too late to make her Son-in-law stay, but she saved her grandchild, both of them were alive and right here. But she's angry right now, upset that Jeralt won't acknowledge her son, though she's sure it's her fault now, she's driving the wedge but she doesn't know how to fix it.

"I **_left_ **because of what you did to Byleth!!" Jeralt shouts back, Rhea is suddenly very grateful for the thickness of the walls and doors, else someone would come running in here by now.

"I saved her as well."

"She didn't cry, or laugh or do anything normal children were supposed to," Jeralt explained his expression lost and absolutely torn,"Do you know how many years I spent, thinking I was fucking her up emotionally?!"

Rhea was taken aback by that,it seemed her Mother's Crest Stone had drawbacks depending on who used it. Sitri had been slow in maturing, but she had always been so full of life, full of everything. An everything she gave in hopes that her children would live.

"She doesn't have a heartbeat, just a pulse, do you know how many doctors I had to avoid to get her seen properly!?"

She can imagine, and she grows fearful of those that wish harm upon her, and her blood. 

"So you can imagine, that finding out you disturbed my son's grave and then raised home here for 21 years, after you told me you could only save one of them..."his face is in his hands. His shoulders, shaking with sorrow and barely hidden rage.

"I'm sorry-he- _I_..."the words won't come to her, how does she explain how unwanted he feels without making things worse, what a broken family this is. 

"Where is he?" He breathes at last, thumb and forefinger wiping at his eyes.

And there it is, the question she knew would eventually come once she told him of the situation. It was as inevitable as him finding out Byle-Bylad was alive in the first place. She sucks in a sharp breath, forcing down the guilt that wells within her, reminding herself that it isn't her fault, necessarily, that all of this is happening. She cannot be blamed for wanting to save her grandson from the cold hands of death.

"That's the thing Jeralt." She forces herself to calm, to say her words with mild and even tones. "He's here, in Garreg Mach. You've seen him already."

Jeralt sucks in another sharp breath, realizing she was right. He and Bylad had already had a first meeting, though they had not shared words or even a look. Bylad had been there, at her side, when she met Jeralt again, when she met his daughter. And Bylad had been there, and he said nothing. The first meeting between father and son, between brother and sister, and there had been nothing.

"That's...that's not fair." Jeralt tells her, wiping his eyes with both his hands. "That's not fair Rhea. Where is he, I want to speak with him."

"But he doesn't want to speak with you, Jeralt." She shook her head, and deep regret settled in her soul. It was not her fault, not entirely, she did not ask Jeralt to leave. But, alas, this was the consequence of being too late to save Bylad. So she forces herself to swallow the guilt, "He doesn't want to meet you."

"I have a right to speak to my son Rhea!" Jeral booms, throwing out his arms, jabbing a finger foreward, "You can't keep him from me!"

"I'm not the one doing so Jeralt." She won't be blamed for this one, not at all, because no one more than she wishes for him to speak with his father. "What did you expect him to feel when his dead father walks into these halls with his dead sister?"

Jeralt shakes, his large form trembling, "That **wasn't** my fault."

"And it wasn't mine." Rhea shakes her own head, "I had not known you were alive when I filled his head with stories of his noble and brave father. His noble and brave father that, _apparently_ , fled with his sister and **not** him."

" _I didn't know._ " Jeralt curses, his large fists clenching tight and whole body shaking, "I didn't know he was alive, because you told me you could only save **one**. Then you dug up the grave and didn't tell me."

"I didn't know if the method I had found would work." Rhea hisses back, the guilt welling again, "I didn't want to give you false hope. I didn't know you would flee the monastery."

"What would you have done in my place Rhea?" He shouts,"If Sitri and you were in my place, where someone you trusted, someone you believed in, possibly harmed your child, the only one you had?!!"

And in a way, Jeralt is right, Sitri may have been the 12th experiment, but she was the only one Rhea had raised. She was Rhea's daughter, her _only_ daughter, and doesn't it just sting. Knowing that the belief he once had in her was now shattered, never again to be regained. 

What _would_ she have done, if she was in Jeralts place, there weren't a great many people she still trusted with everything, not even her brother's. But if she were to draw a comparison, that would have to be her mother. And she cannot bring herself to compare the two cases. She was so young when Mother–

Rhea cannot compare the two.

"I–I don't know what I would have done, I have not trusted anyone in such a manner in a very long time,"she admits. 

He is not satisfied with this turn of events, and neither is she. Mother, she has not even begun to speak about Bylad, his wants. It's merely the surface that they've touched on. Her grandson doesn't value himself, he doesn't think Jeralt would love him, and while she thinks it's be fitting if Jeralt never spoke to him, she cannot do that to her granddaughter.

"So, now what, you called me in here to tell me my son is still alive, and worse he doesn't think I'd give a damn about him?" Jeralts fists are shaking but she can see he is resigning himself to this fate, to never getting to speak a word to Byl-Bylad.

"Byl-Bylad, he doesn't think...he doesn't think people will want to be near him, once his Sister enters the picture, so I had Byleth become a combat instructor so that they could cross paths–"

"How would that get them to meet, isn't he avoiding both of us?" 

"That's what I was hoping you could help figure out."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Rhea is a nuanced grey character  
> we've discussed the kind of person she is at length on the server and in this au, she wholeheartedly believed Jeralt and Byleth were dead, and Sitri was also dead and not yknow being worshipped by Aelfric, albeit we wrote this prior to the Ashen Wolves DLC, but I digress.
> 
> Rhea really was raising Bylad the best she could, she absolutely loves both her grandchildren and wants Bylad to talk to his sister because well...she can't imagine not talking to her siblings, she lost her Mom pretty young so she's clinging to everyone of her family members....They're her hoard.
> 
> Anyway a lot of you mentioned or thought F!Byleth was gonna replace her brother, nuh-uh, she-like Rhea likes to hoard family members, she's not letting him go, so it's like she has a brother and he can't get rid of her.


	5. Chapter 5

_Something was terribly wrong._

The lad could feel it in the wind, in the taste of salt on his tongue, in the way the clanging metal sharps sang in his hearing. Yes, something was terribly wrong. The lad closes his sights and covers his hearing holes, trying to right the wrong. But what is wrong refuses to be righted.

He shifts, his sights peering open, but all around him things are wrong. 

The purr should not be on the stone.

The shadow has watched this day play out over and over and over again. He has watched every moment of this day, obsessed over it's many details. Every version of this day that he could see. Watching them all. Knowing them all.

That purr should not be there.

"Purr." He asks the small, whiskery, clawy, kitty. The purr looks at he, all grey and colorless and not blue, or red, or gold. It stares at him with verdant eyes, watching he, rubbing the tiny fur body against his gloved flesh talons. He kneels on the ground leaves, reaching to pick the purr from the stone, "What has brought this purr to this wave?"

The purr does not answer, it meanly purrs it's happy song, rubbing its face against his neck. The lad gives it a pet, because it is a good purr, but a purr out of place, "Doesn't the purr know she is not where she is meant to be?"

The purr purrs her purry purr into his neck. He pets still, rubbing his own face against her, standing with she in his arms. He would return she to her place and all would be well with the tide. He would...perhaps if he hurried the tide would righten. Perhaps...

But no, he knows in his blood pump it is already far too late. Something had changed, something had gone terribly, awfully, horribly wrong. It is most unpink, how wrong time has become. The lad should check the tides, he should...he should.

He does.

"Oh..." The lad breaths, " _Oh no, no, no."_

It has all gone wrong, something has torn the tide off course! It will take much to fix it! He must... _he must..._

The shadow falls to his knees again, hugging the purr close to his blood pump and huddling in on itself. It takes all in his being to keep the vessel from becoming sick. He forces breath into the vessel, but it is hard to do so. His vessel feels caved in, and he thinks this must be what it's like to fall apart.

"No, no, _no, no, **no."**_ The lad shivers, hugging the purr, "Little purr it has all gone _**wrong.**_ "

The purr mewls, uncaring as to the changes of time, for it is but a purr and they pay no heed to the call of the tide. How strange, the purr, for it is forever apathy. Oh, if only to have the confidence of a purr. But no, this lad is a shadow in the dark, lost to the background and fading. Fading as the tides do.

The lad falls to his side on the ground, curling around the purr and hugging. He must fix that which has been broken, least the change bring unknown ends. He must watch for them now, and learn the new course. Or, if he is blessed, find a way to turn the tides back round.

A quickening sound of click clacking walking talons covered in their shoes, hastens to the Shadows side. A chorus, a song, a cry of his name, _"Byleth!!"_

"Oh dear, have you tripped on a rock again?" The Drunken Damsel asked, her hands, though they looked to be unblemished, held the years of work as a healer. Her calculating gaze scouring his vessel for the lumps of hurt.

"Hmm, did you eat too many sweets again?" Rune Loon queries from his height on high, his round glass being pocketed.

The Fell Knight rounds his talons in his vessels form, and though he gives protest, sits upright he, and adjust the hiding hood.

"Has a tide gone awry, Byleth?" The Fell Knight asks, ever the astute one, the Fell Knight aim rings true. The tide has gone astray, where he had hoped to find a purr of blue or if it came to it, yellow, the Shadow found only silver. This did not bode well for he.

"It is Bylad now, this Shadow is Byleth no longer," the lad speaks instead, for truly it is best the change begins now, the salvaging of the Moon or Wind must begin.  
The oath of the tower must be avoided, must be undone. 

"What are you," the Drunken Damsel begins, her orbs shine with understanding," Oh we don't have to stop calling you Byleth just because you share a name, we'll just call her Professor Eisner."

"No, no, this lad is Bylad now, he is Byleth no longer," insists he.

"Oh come now, really, no need for something as drastic as a name change," the Crested Heron, bends down to he, and gives him a smile of whites,"Loath as I am to agree with Manuela, the new professor will surely understand being addressed as Eisner."

The purr in his talons curls deeper into them, seeking warmth and pets, the Shadow gives them and shakes his head.

"No, no, this one is now Bylad, no longer Byleth is _he!_ " He insists again, shaking his head harder, the purr is now complaining. He is sorry, but they must know, they must understand.

"Alright," the Fell Knight comes to the Shadows aid, though he too will forget him, in time," You are to be addressed as Bylad henceforth, I will let others know."

"Many thanks to this Fell Knight." The moth squirmed, for his skin felt too tight around the vessel, and the purrs claws were beginning to hurt, though it tried to cuddle into he.

"I just don't understand why you have to go so far." The Drunken Damsel shook her head, talons on her hips, her lips pursed into a thick frown, "It's your name. You had it first. I'm pretty sure she's younger than you, and you've lived here all your life."

The lad squirmed more, for the Drunken Damsel knew not how ill wrong her speaking words were. She was older, his Sister. Both in order of birth and in the number of moments she has been breathing. Even now, the shortness of his own breath draws him further and further away from she. And why should he not be driven away? He is but a shadow, and has been since the before, with his old face.

"This lad and she **cannot** both be Byleth."

The Drunken Damsel, ever unsatisfied with half answers, parted her ruby lips to demand more. But the for now faithful Fell Knight stepped in front of he, a soft hand on the shoulder, "It matters not the why. Ours is not to question his reason, we must merely accept his decision."

The Drunken Damsel looked very much _unpink_ at the words, like she had been forced to swallow that to which her tastes found most undelightful. The Crested Heron did as well, and twas a rare moment of unity the lad may have marveled before had it not been pointed towards he. They did not yet understand, they had not the time to understand yet. But they would, soon enough, and then they would see this lad was right to discard the name he had held since birth. Her radiance overshadowed even the dark to which he should have thrived, and cast away all there. He was naught compared to her accomplishments, and soon they would marvel before her, just as they did in every tide, no matter the tide. Then they would be glad twas he who cast aside their name and not she.

He would fade into the background soon enough. Just another body to fill the the space, an afterthought. A background noise.

"Many, many, thanks." The lad holds the purr closer, and she rubs her head against the cloth of his clothing. The moth, rubs his meat cheek against her silvery fur and tries to breath.

"How far awry has the tide gone?" The Fell Knight asks, the steel of his eyes set and true. And he looks at the lad as if the words that would leave his lips would weigh more than the world, but the look is a lie. Soon, even he that had once called the lad **_"friend"_** once and only once would turn that steel to sister, his lust for the clanging of swords shining true and content and complete in her excellence. "Perhaps it is not too late to fix it."

This lad was a swordsman, but an average one. He, perhaps, would have been excellent in another ocean, but here he is not. His talents lay in the magic his mother and teachers spun into his soul. He was not fit to be Sothis, nor was he fit to be the Fell Knight companion.

Afterall, he came from the Old Face, the Shadow.

"This one is... _trying._ " And the lad was, but entire bodies have moved, creeks have been split, new rivers flow. And all along the way the lad was lost in too many new endings, sinking in the deep abyss. He is drowning, and there is no sign of where to go. He focuses on happy sister, but there's too many new endings and he does not know where she is going. He hasn't had the time. "But the tide...it has cast this lad adrift. Alas, he may not see the end."

"Be that as it may," the Fell Knight soothed, standing in his full height, a talon outstretched for this lads own to be placed,"There is no harm in finding the why to understand the how."

Placing his own talon upon the Fell Knights, the lad rose, the purr dropping down to curl around his walking talons, purring as purrs are wont to do. Oh how envious was he of the purr that walked so freely, unburdened by knowledge of tides both wanted and unwanted. 

"You're sure you're fine with having a new name?" The Drunken Damsel asked again, her pretty face set in a frown, no no, this would not do, the Drunken Damsel was to _befriend_ Sister, not an enemy make of her!

"This lad has always been Bylad," he said,"He hath been borrowing of the name for some time."

The lad does not know what thoughts flit past the Damsels eyes, but she surely understood, her eyes filling with the knowing of the change.

"Alright hon, from this day forth you'll be Bylad!"

"This lad thanks the Drunken Damsel."

"Although I wish you'd give me a new nickname," she pouted.

"Perhaps if you stopped drinking so much," the Room Loon crowed, the Drunken Damsels face darkened, soon enough the Fell Knight carried the lad and purr both, and awayed from the steps.

"It's best we avoid that pointless argument, you were speaking of tides?" The Fell Knight reminded, ever the diligent brother. His hand talons now set on the ground, the lad took a good look with his seeing orbs, at the state of the Fell Knight.

"Tell this lad, o Fell Knight, what has become of the Blue Lion Guardian?"

"That will have been me," the Fell Knight confirmed this lads fears, the tide had changed, it had changed and was now irreversible. 

"...I have changed the tides by doing so yes."

"Indeed, the Knight has, though you shall see much of thy Sweet Holy Sister, Holiest of the congregation always and the Soft Liar, his tongue and sword sharp and ready,"informs he, bending down to carry the purr in his talons, the purr making some purring in protest before settling in his encircled limbs.

"Perhaps... _perhaps_ I can get myself replaced, or assigned back to my post if I prove incompetent enough," the Fell Knight offers, his eyes though once lit upon the thought of watching the Holy Sister grow, thinks only of the tide and their right of way,"Will this fix the tide?"

"He knows not, this lad,"Bylad says, talons in the purrs fur, petting to find some succor in the warmth, in the softness of the fur,"But he will look to the tides and tell the Fell Knight all he knows."

"How long will it take for you to know for certain?" The Fell Knight frowns, steel sights sharp on the lad.

But, alas, a fluttering moth cannot know the tides all at once. The ocean of time is too vast, too varied, and he cannot see them all in one glancing sight. His old face could. His old face could beholden the entirety of the oceans in but a glance, but he is not the old face. He is _lesser_ , and he must take time to study the vast changes that have flowed. It is not often the tides change so drastically, and the lad finds himself in unknown waters. The endings he knew may very well no longer be.

The bad thought makes his insides hurt.

He must now swim into the unknown.

"This lad does not know." He reaches his flesh talons and tug his hood to further hide his face. Twas not something he need to, but he feels safe doing so. A holdover from his Old Face? The need to hide the eyes? He cannot recall, but his insides feel soothed. "The sights must watch for the coming of the tides, but he cannot say if it is not too late to wave them back."

The Fell Knight's hand descends upon his head, "There must be a way."

"Or the tides could be made worse." The shadow feels his vessel deflate. There is much he must do. He may become lost in the tides again, perhaps even for days. There may be no hope for the old tides, and the shadow mourns the thought of their loss. He may very well be forced to settle on preparing for whatever will come now.

There was no point being upset with their loss, he realizes. Whatever comes, it is the same. The Butterfly Sister will be the one to lead the charge, and he will fade into the sea. He could do nothing to change what would come, and forcing the Fell Knight to try and turn them back was cruel. It was cruel to ask he to change just because the one thing this lad had he proved to be a failure in. Not when his Sweet Holy Sister would be there.

He checks, _quickity quick_ , just a small peek to the nearest ending, the one most like as is.

He finds his death all too soon.

He snatches his sights away. Oh, oh, _so much_ has changed, and yet so little. He is now moved from the fading to the sacrifice. He shall die so sister may rise ever higher.

**His blood pump fills with joy.**

Yes, _at last_ , he can be useful. Even if all the world should forget him, even if all the words should favor the butterfly before the moth, he can at least taste the sweetness of usefulness. He can die with blood on his lips, and the knowledge he had made someone happy, even if only for but a moment. 

This shadow can fade content with such a tide.

"Dear Fell Knight." The lad holds the pale wrist of the hand on top his head, "He need not try. No, tis this lad's own fault for failing to see the change in course so. Do as the Fell Knight will, teach the Sweet Holy Sister, lead the Blue Purrs. Please. Be happy."

The Fell Knight looks at he, his orbs show an emotion he knows not. The Fell Knights talon grips his shoulder, and squeezes, squishes it not so tightly that the flesh and bone is gone, but enough so that the lad knows the Fell Knight intends to keep his promise.

Nodding their heads they go their separate ways. And had the lad thought to look at the tides in that moment, to glimpse the changes that had wrought he would know. He would hold knowing that the Fell Knight would, in truth not be a good leader to the Blue Purrs. In fact, the Blue Purrs would be so thoroughly upset, they would cry at the Willow Widows doors for hope of someone else.

And in a single moment.

The tide had changed.

* * *

It had been an odd first week of work, Byleth had to say. It was the strangest group of recruits she ever had the honor of teaching. All three houses had their quirks and she had to say the most difficult of the bunch were individuals rather than houses themselves. And she stood right about the Faerghus students, they were the easiest to teach, although some did get stuck upon her lance techniques, which she had learned only a few hours earlier from her father.

> _"Professor, where did you learn such a style?!" Ingrid exclaimed, clutching onto her lance in rapturous wonder._
> 
> _"My Father taught it to me," Byleth admitted, her voice betraying not an ounce of her confusion,"Why?"_
> 
> _"Well, it's just that it's such an unused style now, and quite important to considering,"Ingrid admitted her voice growing sad, her eyes drawn to Dimitri beside her who's own gaze had grown distant._
> 
> _"What Ingrid means to say,"the flirty Sylvain began, a hand on Ingrid's shoulder in comfort,"Is that no one amongst Faerghus Knight uses such a style anymore. Any practioners were slain during the tragedy of Duscur."_
> 
> _"It was a trademark style created between the Glaive House and the Crown, Blaiddyd,"Dimitri added, setting himself across from her his lance at the ready,"Normally, my father would've taught me, or one of the Glaives, but I'm afraid there numbers no lancers amongst the Glaives."_
> 
> _Byleth considers the information, and readjusted her stance,"I fear I'm far from a Master, but perhaps I can introduce you to my Father, he is much more adept at this style than I."_

The smile the young prince gave her was bright, it made her feel better, to bring him some joy with something as small as a Lance Style. She did bring it up with her father later, who looked quite sad at the news, but nonetheless readily agreed and talked it over with the prince himself.

The Adrestian students weren't all as pretentious as she'd thought they'd be, in fact some were downright lazy. Dorothea's flirtatious nature almost made her want to set her up with Sylvain, just to see what would happen. And Ferdinand's' constant challenging of Edelgard was a tad too much, especially since they didn't even use the same weapons. She did appreciate his attentiveness though, as well as his voluntary coaxing of Bernadetta from her room.

Linhardt's unwillingness to learn anything unless it interested him was hard to deal with, as was Hubert's constant testing of her skills. She did take satisfaction in reminding him he'd very rarely seen battle in the field. Edelgard was much the same, assessing her as a potential asset. Byleth didn't appreciate that, especially since she made it known she held loyalty to no one.

Still, Bernadetta was quite focused on becoming a Sniper, when Byleth managed to speak to her. The young girl was dedicated to becoming unseen, and watching her light up when praised did put something warm in Byleths chest.

 **I do not know what it is about the girl, but she reminds me of a young Sweet child I once knew,** Sothis said from her perch in the air.

Petra was quite skilled with a sword and was very pleased to know that Byleth had some knowledge, however little it was, on Brigid Sword-Styles. While Byleth wasn't able to offer her much instruction, she did want to see if any among her father's company did.

> _"Professor, I am to be thanking you for so much kindness!"_
> 
> _"No need, just...I'll see what I can do, and if not we'll figure something out."_

Caspar was another such student with boundless enthusiasm, much like Felix from the Blue Lions, he was constantly looking to spar. And was even more thrilled to lose, very unlike Felix. His brawling could use a lot of work, but he had that...bottomless energy pool that she wanted to find out what she could do with.

Maybe put him against Dimitri? No...Raphael?

And then there was the Golden Deer, diamonds in the rough they were. But where did she begin?

It's difficult to pin down the Golden Deer students, they're certainly the most varied of the students. Most of them are long range fighters by default. But there's enough difference among their styles and tastes for combat. And they're all so much more...sneaky?

Or at least Claude was a tricky one. He liked to pull fast moves. Tripping feet, throwing sand in eyes, sabotaging weapons beforehand if his homeroom teacher had assigned him a certain sparring partner for the day. He was very, very, good at finding ways to win. It was all very practical, and his classmates seemed to despise it.

Or at least Lorenz did. It wasn't surprising He held his nobility in high esteem, and it reflected in his preference for a balance of combat that favors magic and lance work. Byleth could do little to help with his magic, but that was more than fine, because Hanneman was more than proficient in magic. And her basic knowledge of lance wielding helped. Though he insisted on riding skills more than anything, which she had the basics of, but would certainly need to brush up on. Marianne had a similar issues. Her desired skill set was simply something Byleth was able to help in limited portions. Luckily, Byleth knew enough to help her with the non-magical parts of working towards becoming a paladin, which she apparently wanted to be.

Really, the class was mostly easy to teach aside from that. Mostly. Ignatz and Raphael were simple and straightforward. They both knew what they wanted and Byleth had the skills to get them there. Ignaz also wanted to be a sniper, much like Bernedetta, and had the determination to get there, though his heart was not quite as into the task, preferring to take in the details of his surroundings rather than blending into them. Raphael, on the other hand, had excellent strength and more needed to refine his technique to fit said strength, which was simple enough.

Surprisingly enough, it was the last three that were the most difficult to teach. Lysithea was young, physically weak, and wanted to focus on magical arts for combat. Her instructor, luckily, had this covered for her, and most practices were spent working on her reflexes more than any weapons based technique. She was enthusiastic, at least, which made her easier to work with than...others.

Hilda, despite having a talent for melee based combat and a constitution to be envied, was in no way motivated and would spend every moment trying to avoid actual practice. She was the one that had to most often be dragged into sparing or stance practice, but luckily it seemed most of the other students, notably Claude, had decided to ease the burden from her and help get Hilda to actually practice.

But even _she_ did not compare to Leonie. The girl was not a bad student, or unmotivated. In fact, her skill set worked best with Byleth's own, and the young woman thought she would be the easiest to work with, _at first._ After all, Leonie wanted to practice every weapon Byleth excelled in and a few more on top, and that was **fine.** But, for whatever reason, the girl seemed to her more as a rival than an instructor or tutor. It was... _distracting_ for the girl, and it often seemed to spur her to become a bit defensive when corrected, or to try and outdo Byleth in the field. It was baffling, and the young woman could only continue on with instruction through it. So far it had not been a severe enough issue to hurt anyone, but she may have to report it to Hanneman if this goes on for much longer.

 **She's just jealous,** Sothis said the impish girls body floating behind her as she readied herself in front of the small vanity provided to her by the lodgings, **You are Jeralts no. 1 protégé after all.**

The impish girl snickered at her stunned expression. It didn't occur to Byleth at all, that this would possibly be the source of Leonies constant challenging. She vaguely wondered if this was how Edelgard felt all the time when Ferdinand constantly challenged her. Byleths face soured as she put her hair up, and quickly amended the thought. 

As much as Ferdinand was constantly challenging Edelgard, he was also helping her, by sparring with her and sharing with her what experience he had as a lancer, so Edelgard could better work around future enemy lancers. To her benefit, Edelgard took the advice into account, and often returned advice to Ferdinand in turn. 

It was one of the rare moments where Byleth got to see her as the young girl she was, and not as a future leader of Adrestia.

Shaking her head to rid herself of such thoughts, she looked at her calendar and noted that on this morning the Blue Lions would have the training field first. Which meant she needed to prepare extra weaponry, particularly Lance's considering the young Prince's tendency to break them.

 **Hmm, that young prince looks so familiar, I wonder why?** Sothis asked aimlessly, not expecting an answer. Though Byleth was beginning to get curious.

 _'This is the fifth time you've asked that question,'_ Byleth commented, making her way to the market to pick up some extra training weapons.

 **It is something to consider, is it not?** Sothis asked, floating around her head as she descended down the few steps between the entrance hall and the inner market, **He looks far too familiar, and I haven't the slightest idea why.**

Walking back with her quarry in tow, she gave some thought to the idea as well. Byleth didn't know what Sothis was, or how she came to be within her, but whatever the case- _Were those–cats?!_

So many of them, too of varying colors and sizes, coats of gray, orange, yellow, a tinge of red, blacks and blue. And they all seem to clamor around the lone figure in the center, standing tall above them all. Byleth recognized him as the figure from the first meeting with Lady Rhea. He seems to be flustered, turning quickly this way and that, to appease the numerous cats yowling for attention.

"Hey," she calls out without thinking,"Do you need any help?"

The boy freezes, and makes ready to run, she knows that body language, and just as she's about to call out again, the cats seems to focus on her.

"Uh...Hi?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So just to say this, Bylad truly does not think he holds any intrinsic value to the world, since he can see the future and possible futures, he saw one where Rhea was like canon Rhea wanting Sothis to awaken within Byleth's body, he's neither f!Byleth or Sothis so he doesn't think he can make Rhea happy, when really Rhea is an old lady who absolutely loves her grandchildren.
> 
> In fact, he feels that to save Byleth, who he thinks hates him, or at least wants nothing to do with him, from any pain of losing Jeralt something has to give, and that something is him. But ahahaha, Newsflash Bylad, Byleth is literally the meme of Rosa from B99 holding the dog. A running joke in the server is Bylad being self-depricating and Byleth sayin I'll make it illegal for people to not love you, which he doesn't think is allowed but Byleth loves her baby brother too much and she's the Goddess reborn so...


	6. Chapter 6

The cats stare at her unblinking. Their slanted eyes near glowing with verdant greens and sickly yellows. Not one of them looks away from her, just staring for having dared disturb them. Their faces all point intensely at her, and their bodies look ready to pounce to the figure's defense.

"No small purrs." The boy speaks, his voice is...oddly pleasant to her ears. A few of the students have pleasant voices like that, but just in ways that make them sound nice to her. This boy's voice is strangely and almost hypnotically calming. "No, no, no. One must not swipe at the butterfly."

Butterfly? How strange. Byleth would not have compared herself to the insect. It's not a strong one at all, with weak wings and no defense. It flutters rather than flies, and it does not hunt, or fight. No, the comparison is very poor, she thinks. Was it because he considers her beautiful that he makes it? Because if so then it has obviously blinded his assessment skills. 

**'Some butterflies are poison.'** Sothis whispers in her mind. **'Especially to cats.'**

Ah, she had not known this. How odd. And what a specifically odd thing to know in this situation. Especially since Sothis lacked her memory of more relevant things in her life.  
 **'I cannot remember fully...'** Sothis tries to justify the knowledge, ' **But I think...yes...someone once called me a butterfly as well. The spirit of change, the butterflies. They're stronger than you think Byleth, and in a way I suppose we _are_ like them.'**

Well, in that case it made the boy oddly intuitive. Or, at the very least, strangely fixated on speaking in metaphors to his herd of cats. How strange. He should just speak plainly.

Byleth then realizes that, perhaps, this is the boy Rhea spoke of. The seer who _cannot_ speak plainly. Rhea had warned her that speaking to him would seem overly personal, and this strange feeling and odd insight must be it. How strange though, Byleth had assumed she would find him sooner than this. She had not forgotten him, per se, she was warned he would be an issue, but she had not crossed paths yet, which seems odd, given the warning.

Her father has also not explained the exact situation regarding this boy yet. She will have to remind him later that she needs to be made aware in case she runs into the boy like this again. If he is dangerous to himself or others than she needs to be ready to defend herself. Though her father wasn't one to tend to forget such important information in regards to her safety, so the boy must not be a physical danger at the very least, simply a socially uncomfortable one, which her father was prone to ignore and avoid. This, at least, fit Lady Rhea's warnings.

Byleth did not reach for her sword. Social situations are odd, but she does not think she is unfit to handle the boy's oddities.. She, herself, has been informed that she is odd. And while she finds that she had been...feeling and expressing more over the last week than she can ever recall doing...she is still socially odd.

But, perhaps, that would put her in a unique position to understand the boy.

 **'He seems so oddly familiar as well.'** Sothis hums in the debts of her mind, **'Like a face I've known all my life and have forgotten.'**

_Like Dimitri?_

**'Yes, like him, but different in a way I simply cannot recall.'** Sothis nods.

"This one must away." The boy spoke, trying to herd the cats away. But they stood, an unbreakable army, each one staring at her with intent to kill if she dared displease them. An army in defense of it's master. How strange. It's almost a silly thing to behold, and yet it is true. And Byleth knows cats to be killers for pleasure. "No, no, no. Purrs, please away with this shadow. Do not the butterfly harm."

"I won't hurt you." Byleth states. She is sure that, if the cats were to attack, she could kill them all quite easily, but it seems a needless waste. She has no intentions of harming the boy before her. She simply wishes to introduce herself to the strange seer, "I am Byleth, a combat instructor here. And yourself?"

The boy freezes, body rigid and terrified. He only moves to pull the hood further over his face, "This one is no one. This one is nothing."

 **'How oddly pathetic.'** Sothis comments from within the mind once again. **'To have a body and be nothing. It would be sad if it were not so pitiful.'**

Byleth thought being pitiful and being sad were the same things, but she must have been wrong. Still, she feels a pang of something unfamiliar to her. It was not so long ago wherein she answered this same question and called herself a ghost.

 **'It is called empathy, Byleth.'** Sothis tells her, **'You feel his sadness for it is your own, and it is a shame to see it reflected in him.'**

Ah, empathy, she heard of it before. She heard that she lacked it, that she could not feel it, but it seems that is simply untrue.

 **'Empathy is learned.'** Sothis answers idly, **'I believe I knew some who had so much it killed them, in the end.'**

_How dangerous._

' **So is a lack of empathy at all.'** Sothis explains, **'Such a thing only kills faster if one is not careful.'**

The boy tries to ghost away, his clothes breezing in winds as he gathers up some of his cats and tries to turn away, perhaps hoping that if he is gone, they will leave her be, or follow. But he freezes when they hear something rather...odd.

 _ **'SoThIs'.**_ A foreign voice speaks to them both, **'SiStEr We FoUnD yOu.'**

The boy clutches his head, shaking it, " _No, no, no._ Away Old Face. **_Away._** "

And the boy flees, as many cats as he can carry in his arms, his clothes billowing as he turns the corner and fades from sight. With their master gone, the cats turn away, most speeding after him, and some simply breaking formation to go lounge elsewhere.

She won't ever admit how still she stood in that moment. She'd sent it to the eternal flames and back, Byleth would. There were so many questions, who was that voice, why was the boy so afraid of her, did he have something like Sothis too? Did that mean Sothis could speak to him on her behalf? Why were there so many cats?

 **Lets... leave it alone for now,** Sothis suggested, hovering limply beside her. Byleth agreed and made to continue her journey to the training hall but stopped. Before the doors to the hall stood the Archbishops advisor, Seteth, he looked to have been awaiting her arrival.

"Seteth, how may I help you?"Byleth asked, entering the hall and setting down her quarry.

"Archbishop Rhea was supposed to meet with you regarding this, but her schedule has become...packed as of late," Seteth explained, helping her move some of the training dummies and stacks of weapons out of the way to prevent injury.

"What about?"

"It's about Professor Jeritza and his... _methods_ ," Seteth admitted, his expression troubled, and she could guess why.

 **'Poor children,'** Sothis commented, floating around Seteth, observing him, Byleth briefly wondered if Seteth looked familiar to Sothis as well, **'They all look so relieved when you teach them, I can't imagine why.'**

"He has been rather...loose in his instruction, and at this point the students saw fit to complain to me and petition the Archbishop for, quite literally anyone else," Seteth explained, rubbing his forehead. Byleth could understand why, honestly it was probably the lack of instruction in the classroom that made the Blue Lions want to double down on what they could learn with her on the field.

"I don't see what that has to do with me–,"Byleth cut herself off and pieced everything together,"But weren't you and Rhea of the opinion I am too young and inexperienced?"

"What makes you think I'm asking you?" Seteth asked instead.

"Why come tell me this in the first place," Byleth retorted, following up with,"Besides you prefaced this topic by saying Rhea wanted to speak with me."

"It's Archbishop!" Seteth exclaimed, almost in a knee-jerk response. Byleth gave him a raised eyebrow and turned back to setting up targets leaving him to stew in his anger.

 **'You know, he also looks oddly familiar, and I don't recall him ever being _not_ stuck up,'** Sothis said, snickering as she floated in circles around Seteths head.

"I'd set up the field and head to the Blue Lions Classroom,"Seteth finally said after a few minutes,"We have other teachers filling in as Instructors."

"Why not simply transfer one of them to being the instructor instead?" Byleth asked, because it seemed strange to her that one of the other instructors in the academy did not simply take his place. Surely at least one of them had to be more competent than Jeritza?

Seteth's face set in thick displeasure, like the question was hard to swallow. It, perhaps, was considering that Byleth had been originally considered for a homeroom teaching position over these every same instructors, and only was not granted one because of her relative inexperience. "Unfortunately, most of the instructors within the academy have doubled duties. Most are also guards, or knights, or priests. Hanneman and Manuela were two of the only qualified instructors that had the time to be a homeroom instructor."

The young woman paused, frowning. She hadn't realized the teachers were this short staffed. She shouldn't be, she can't imagine many knights are either qualified or want to teach students, but to hear it confirmed is different. It also makes her realize just how lucky she had been that she was not loaded with more duties. All she had to do was show up to the ring and follow the lesson plans the homeroom teachers set for her.

Except, of course, in the case of the Blue Lion class, who always arrived without lesson plans. She had to improvise for them, and learn from they, themselves, what weapons they wanted to work with, and find out where their weaknesses lay from observing their combat herself and speaking with them. She should have known that Jeritza was neglecting instruction from that...

"If we had realized how...hands off he would be, we would have just continued with the plan to let you lead one of the classes." Seteth looked rather sour at the admission. Byleth could not blame him for it, the situation must seem like a waste of time and effort for him, especially since Jeritza was supposed to be an improvement over Byleth, not a step down. He shook his head, touching his hand to his forehead and rubbing it in stressed circles, "I simply cannot understand it. Jeritza was never a neglectful instructor before. What could have..."

Seteth's green eyes narrowed at the ground, and his words died on his lips. She wondered what was on his mind, what conclusion he must have come to about the supposed change in behavior. He made a frustrated noise, turning back to her with a wary glare, "In the spirit of fairness, I am going to inform you beforehand what Rhea has planned."

"Am I to replace Jeritza?" Byleth asked, coming to the most logical conclusion considering the before conversation. 

"That...remains to be seen." Seteth informed her, folding his hands behind his back, "She plans to make you assistant professor for now, and if Jeritza's neglect does not alleviate within the next few weeks we will transfer you to official homeroom teacher of the Blue Lions, and let Jeritza return to his previous position, with a reprimand."

* * *

It'd been a very long first week, Dimitri thought, and he realized now how draining it was because the first thing he thought when he sat up was that he didn't want to wake up. The brief hope in some concrete instruction from Professor Byleth however, outweighed his wanting to sleep in. He had heard from his upperclassmen from the previous year, when he was learning what was expected of him as a House Leader, what the prospective Professors were like.

As he understood it, while Jeritza valued strength above all, he didn't fail any student, because all the students that trained under him displayed some merit in their chosen studies. Jeritza was thorough and not easily pleased. But he was never a lacking professor. 

Not wanting to think ill of the man or of his predecessor, Dimitri readied himself for the morning, and donned the mask of a prince. Ignoring the ghost of his father behind him in the mirror. 

Joining his classmates at the breakfast table, he enjoyed the porridge given to them, a tasteless mush, but hearty nonetheless. Although given the looks on his fellow Faerghan faces, it wasn't enough to undo the lacking of instruction from yesterday.

"Man, Jeritza not teaching any of us is bringing even me down," Sylvain sighed across from him. 

"It really is, considering you haven't flirted with the new professor once, since Jeritza was assigned the Professor to our house," Ingrid commented, the only one eating her meal slowly besides Ashe, who looked very out of place. Poor boy.

"Do you think Seteth is actually looking for a replacement?" Annette whispered, her bowl untouched, more than likely too nervous to eat.

"I hope so, Jeritza is meant to be a combat instructor, nothing more," Felix bit out, eating his own bowl like it had earned his ire.

"Nonetheless, we'll just have to endure it for now," Dimitri said at last, and while normally Felix would've retorted, he too remained silent. How worrying, truly they were in dire straits.

Once they were done they marched rather slowly to the classroom dreading the rather long hours of sitting in self-study. Dimitri hated it, it reminded him of being stuck in his study back in Fhirdiad, doing nothing but tax calculations. He didn't get to do much once he returned from Duscur, other than study and do taxes.

"Do you think he's coming?" Ashe whispered to his neighbor Mercedes.

"He is,"Mercedes said with authority, and he'd believe her. She was the only student that managed to coax answers, if any from Jeritza. Sylvain had joked that Jeritza had a crush on her, and Mercedes had shot him with such a withering glare Sylvain had yet to bring it up again. Not to say he wasn't curious about Jeritzas doting on Mercedes as well, but the darkness in her eyes when asked, Dimitri didn't know the reason behind it. 

But he knew when to leave well enough alone. This was one of those times.

Within moments of the first bell signaling class to begin, Jeritza strolled in. Same as always.

"Things will be a bit different today, rather than a day of self-study you will begin by listing your goals both academic and combative when you introduce yourselves," Jeritza said, standing in front of the desk, his arms crossed.

A beat of silence.

"Professor,"Dimitri began,"you already know our academic and combat goals, not to mention our names–" 

"I know them yes,"Jeritza cut him off, pointing towards the open doors to the classroom,"She doesn't."

Entering the room, her gaze passive as always, was Professor Byleth. Haloed by the morning light behind her, stepping through the open doors, she looked nothing short of holy...no Divine even.

"Starting today, Professor Byleth will be the Assistant Professor to the Blue Lions class, Prince Dimitri, we'll start with you."

It was as if a ray of light had finally broken through a vast and deep darkness. While he could not say he knew much of Professor Byleth's academic or organizational skill, he knew her to be a decent combat instructor, and he had actually learned from her at times. And, frankly, even an inexperienced teacher was better than no teacher.

"Class." The new professor nodded her head, standing beside their own teacher. "There is no need to state your names, but I would like to review your personal goals so that I may begin to make lesson plans."

Lesson plans. _Actual,_ honest to the Goddess lesson plans. Actual plans, with actual studying and actual assignments. Dimitri never thought he would be grateful for such a thing. But he could tell that, in just a week their class was starting to fall behind. Self study could only accomplish so much, after all. He was almost too eager as he stood up and stated his preference and goals. And he could tell that everyone else were eager with the change as he was. Annette was downright giddy as she stood and detailed her wants. And even Felix seemed pleasantly pleased by the possibility of instruction.

"Enjoy your study, students." Jeritza stated as he began walking away. What? What was he doing? Dimitri was grateful that they had an actual instructor, but he didn't think their teacher would just leave her here to teach alone.

"Professor Jeritza." Byleth called after him, her face blank as she spoke to him, "Are you not going to instruct your students? I had assumed you merely had issues with that academic planning."

"I was never supposed to be here." Jeritza did not turn to face her, merely strolling towards the opened doors, "My place here was a mistake in time. And now that you're here it is one I have corrected. I shall find Bylad and tell him he need not worry over the changes to come. Enjoy your position, professor Byleth."

Byleths' face does not betray her emotions, nor her inner turmoil regarding such speech. _Bylad?_ Who was Bylad, and what did he have to do with this? Is that what Seteth suspected, this Bylad person being involved in Jeritzas lack of interest or otherwise effort into being a professor? She blinked and recalled exactly where she was. That's right, she's an assistant professor, or at least she's supposed to be, but given the manner in which the professor she's supposed to be assisting has left, it looked like she'd be going it alone.

No matter, this was no different from training with the students, although this time she'd have more time for one on one training with the students. And the Blue Lions needed it, for all their enthusiasm and effort on the field, their academics were sorely lacking.

This was going to be a long day.

"Right then, now that I have all your goals written down, I'm afraid I won't be able to jump into devising a curriculum for each of just yet," Byleth glanced around, not one student was disappointed by this, in fact they appreciated her honesty.

 **'Or, they're just happy to have someone willing to teach them'** ,Sothis said, sitting in the chair beside her, **'Poor things, so starved for someone to teach them they'll take anything they can get.'**

That was dangerous, she'd have to teach them not to settle for something like that, especially not when it came to this.

"It's 10, so we'll stick to the schedule like last time, and go to the Training Hall, Lancers, Magic users and Archers will practice what they have learned last time, Swordsmen and Heavy armor focused students with me."

They quickly filed out behind her, like the stray dogs that often trailed behind her from village to village.

 **'Well,'** she thought, **'At least I don't have to worry about complaining too much.'**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just some little bits of headcanon seeping in, you'll come to know why Dimitri is familar to Sothis in due time


	7. Chapter 7

Garreg Mach hasn't changed.

Jeralt shouldn't have expected any change, to be honest. The building has been standing for over twelve-thousand years with very little added on since the last stone was lain all those years ago. And it's a bit much to say the place hasn't changed at all. Some curtains are different, some plants have changed, some bushes have grown, the people have rotated. But everything else? The training ground, the dorms, the mess hall. It's all stayed the same. It's all right where he left it twenty years ago.

It's enough to choke him up. Everything is the same, and everything reminds him of Sitri. He sees the tree she used to sit under. He sees the dock she used to watch him fish from. There's the wall she used to hide behind when he came out of the barracks. And there's the garden the first kissed.

Everything is the same, even her grave.

It's old. Neglected. Her name is faded from the stone, and only the date of her death can be made from the carvings. How her name withered so fast, he'll never know, but it seems like just another thing the world has taken from him. Stone...stone is supposed to remember long past men. Yet even the stone has forgotten her. 

The only sign of life here are the flowers left on the ground in front of it. Jeralt kneels in front of the grave, gathering the small bundle between his hands. Orange lilies. Her favorite.

_"Why those flowers?"_

_"W-Well th-they, ah, remind me of you."_

He brushes a calloused them over the still soft petals. They're still fairly fresh, the withering hasn't set in yet. Someone was here recently. Rhea? She's the only other person who would care enough to come. But, no, he brushes that thought away. Rhea wasn't the type to mourn by visiting graves and setting down flowers. She mourned with actions. Alois? No, he didn't know her favorite flowers. And Byleth...well...she didn't even know her mother's name because he's a piss poor father. 

That left only one other person it could be.

"Fuck." He can't swallow the emotion and the guilt leaks into the singular word. His hands tighten around the flower stems, tied together by a ribbon. They creak beneath his broad hands, and he has to untighten his hands before he crushes them. 

He places them back down, but doesn't stand, his fist clenching over his knees instead, "Sitri...I'm sorry."

The grave doesn't speak, because it's just a grave, not her. The dead don't speak, not even in Faerghus. And if they are speaking to you then it's not anything good. And it's better that he can't hear her. He's glad. That means she's resting, that Rhea's digging hadn't disturbed her spirit.

But, Goddess, he needs her now.

"Sitri, I didn't know," Jeralt confesses, his hands squeezing tight. "I didn't know he was here. I didn't know she'd dug him up."

Nothing but the gentle breeze sounds.

"I don't know what he's like, Sitri." The guilt wells from his chest and floods his throat. He can feel it drowning him, leaving nothing but burnt, itching, flesh, and ruptured lungs. "I tried tailing him all week, but he's...he's avoiding me."

And still, the grave says nothing.

"I raised our girl." He tells her anyway, even though there's no one there to hear him, "But I didn't raise her right. I think...I think I made whatever is going on with her worse. She's never smiled, or laughed, or cried."

Nothing still.

"What's Bylad like, Sitri?" Jeralt asks, knowing she won't answer, "Did he laugh for you? Has he ever cried over your grave? Has he ever wished you were here? Has he ever wished I was here?"

Nothing.

"Bylad is an odd name." He comments, and laughs bitterly, "You wanted to name them Byleth. He's a seer. It's easy to see what happened there."

Nothing, he's just a tired old man talking to a stone.

"Fuck, I messed this up," Jeralt admits, staring at the sky. It's harder being a father than he thought, and now he wishes he could apologize to his old man. If he'd known how hard this would all be, how easy it was to be so wrong, especially all alone, he'd have given the man less grief. "I...I left him here

All Jeralt can think of right now is how his Father feels. He didn't get to say goodbye he thinks, it's been so long, and his father has probably already passed on by now. He wonders then since he'd been cast out of the Mountain if Fili and Kili are still kicking around. They probably are. There are too many mistakes Jeralt has made in his life, too many to fix.

He may as well start with fixing the ones he can, and work towards the ones he probably will never be able to undo.

Kneeling in front of Sitris' grave always did bring these kinds of thoughts on, it was here he thought to start the fire, and run with Byleth. Where he sought out another doctor, unaffiliated with the Church. Where he tossed away the life he'd built for nearly 50 years, to spend 20 on the run. 

"I'll start making amends where I can Sitri, I promise," Jeralt lays a palm on the stone, standing a strong gust of wind blew by, circling the marigolds around him before settling them back down on the grave. Some petals were missing, and it looks a little jumbled, but the marigolds looked none the worse for wear.

Jeralt held his breath, and then set his lips in a smile, "Alright, I'll be going now dear."

Making his way to his office, his shoulders feeling both lighter and heavier at the same time, Jeralt caught the Faerghus students trotting after Byleth to the Training Hall. Like little ducklings they were, or more comparably, the hunting dogs from the troupe that used to follow Byleth around. Lost puppies that either had to be abandoned or put to use and on Byleths insistence, were put to use. One of the few times she ever asked for anything.

He felt his chest grow warm with pride, despite her lacking skill in most departments, she was adept at learning things within a few minutes and imparting the knowledge into her teachings immediately. So everything worked out in the end.

Walking up the steps to the office, he thought about what he would write, an apology? No, the twins wouldn't even look at it if it was an apology. A letter detailing to them what he'd been doing...no they didn't have an attention span that long. He almost...he almost just wanted to write to his father, just to get the feelings out there, but his father was either dead or dying. It was always a toss-up with Eisners, but...a small part of him wanted to hope.

Reaching his office, a space that hadn't changed all that much either, Jeralt rounded the desk, set out the quill ink and paper, and prepared himself to write.

To write home for the first time in 70 years.

Jeralt sat with a soft huff. His desk creaked as he leaned against it, the wood crying with age. It was the same one he'd used twenty years ago. Actually, nothing in the room had changed in the twenty-some years since he'd left. Rhea had, apparently, preserved it in his memory. 

_"I did it for Bylad."_ She'd told him, rubbing her hands over the cushioned seats.

He finds his eyes wandering towards those same cushions, sat between that small table. He wonders if his son every snuck in here and laid on them. He wonders if Bylad had ever fallen asleep on them, laying there for the night and wishing his father were there. Or, worse, had he laid there and wondered why he was left behind?

 _"Bylad cannot see the past."_ Rheas had told him via trying to figure how this all had happened. _"Once a moment has passed, however it happened, it is lost to his eyes. It is only the many possibilities that may come after that he can see. Even then, he can only stand to see so many at a time. He only focuses on some, the most likely paths."_

Jeralt forces himself to look away from the cushions, swallowing the guilt again. Everything makes him think about his son, and he has to focus now. So he looks down and folds back some parchment, plucking a quill and dipping it in the ink.

He's always liked letters better than talking. With letters, he can practice what he wants to say, cross out what doesn't work and rewrite it later. The smell of parchment and the scratch of his quill is comforting. It soothes his nerves, and it becomes a little easier to write and say what he means as he goes on. Oh, it's not easy at all, but it goes from downright unthinkable to only slightly unbearable to simply unpleasant and uncomfortable the further on he goes.

Then it makes him think of how easy it would have been to do this twenty years ago. Or fifty years ago. Or any time before this, and he feels guilty again. He stops, dropping the quill, rubbing his face again. He forces himself to breathe because he can't keep doing this, he can't keep getting distracted.

If he wants to fix his mistakes, if he wants to prove how serious he is about fixing them, then he needs to work on them, no matter how hard it is. So he straightens himself out, grabs his quill again, and starts scratching at the letter again.

It takes a while. It takes a long while, with lots of scratched out sentences and rewording and more rewriting than he's ever done in a letter. But he gets it, eventually. He gets it and he has to copy the whole damn thing to another paper. It's a rambling, sad, pathetic mess. Starting out almost too casual, like he hadn't gone fifty-some years without writing, and then detailing his whole Goddess damned, fucked up, messed up life and every fucking mistake he's made after. And he feels like laughing bitterly because the twins finally have the evidence of what a piss poor brother they have.

And he sends that letter off tied to a raven, out to House Eisner, and his fate is sealed. 

But this is the first step in many to prove to Bylad that he's so sorry and that he hadn't meant to abandon him. If nothing else came of this, then at least he'll have tried to fix things, he can honestly say he did his best.

Jeralt falls back against his desk, exhausted.

Well, now that he's started, he has to keep going. Fixing his mistakes is going to be bitter, but he doesn't have a choice. And that means that his next step is obvious, no matter how hard it's going to be.

He has to tell his daughter about this.

* * *

An opportunity did show itself, she just...didn't expect it to be in the form of— ** _this._**

The heir to the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, Prince Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd. His features are so familiar, no doubt the Crest taken from her Eldest Sister, her blood, her very essence that has forever etched itself into the Blaiddyd line. He looked very tired, much like her Father had looked after ferrying all the lost souls from the wars waged by the surrounding kingdoms. 

Today he had come to request a change in professor.

"May I ask what brought this on?" Rhea asked, her face the mask of the kind Archbishop despite her giddiness at such a perfect opportunity. Bylad wouldn't mind being part of a class, in fact, having asked the other day, he seemed all the more for it. Which was troubling, it either meant he'd be farther away from his sister or just out of reach but never there. Rhea could never really tell.

"Of course, this is in no way a complaint towards Professor Jeritzas' combat instruction, in fact, his work there is almost superb," the young prince began, his gaze trailing off to the side, observing his features and realized how much he looked like his father. And his Mad Grandfather, her mind supplied.

"But...?" Seteth urged the prince to continue, she sighed on the inside, some thousand years between them seeing one another and some 10 odd years working here, and her brother still was rule-abiding as always.

"But I'm afraid the Blue Lion class isn't receiving adequate academic instruction," the Prince paused for a moment, "In fact, we are receiving none at all."

"At all?" Seteth echoed incredulously, Rhea's eyes were wide with shock. She didn't think Jeritza would skirt his duties like this, he'd been a very diligent if harsh instructor during his tenure at the Academy. Nonetheless, she wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth and closed her eyes to give off the idea she was thinking on the subject.

"While I don't doubt the candor of your claims Prince Dimitri, we are rather short-staffed at the moment, not many of our instructors are available enough to lead your class," Rhea said, gauging the Prince's expression and body language.

"In all honesty, Your Grace, at this point so long as we receive some academic coaching, it's more than enough," The Prince admitted. No doubt telling the truth, but she wanted to poke at him a bit more, she'd seen the way his gaze followed her granddaughter from up on the Star terrace.

"Even if I assign you Seteth?" Rhea asked again, ignoring the betrayed glare her brother shot her.

If anything the Prince looked relieved.

"I am sure he is overqualified for the position, considering his years going over the curriculum and class assignments," the Prince replied.

Smiling kindly, she said, "Then give me but a day, and I am sure we will have something put together shortly."

What a fine opportunity indeed. She brought her family together yet.

_I promise my darling Sitri, I **promise.**_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A step forward in one direction and a step back in others, Rhea's segment at the end is a call back for what happened in the morning since these are all happening relatively within the same day or week.
> 
> We worked out that Jeralt's, as is Canon is long-lived, and that more than likely he has little to no family left back home in Faerghus. He's got a lot of regrets, and things that need to be taken care of and apologized for. If you've read Mountain Queen or The Eisner's Return then you know who his family is and their lore and history. If not well, I can't make you read those and it's also not necessary, just supplementary reading.
> 
> I also hope you come to enjoy this version of Rhea and Seteth, she's a lot more...chill in this fic, especially if you've read Cult of Seiros. In fact...she's way more relaxed in this fic than in Cult of Seiros.


	8. Chapter 8

Over the passing of long days, the lad has taken solstice hiding away within his place of rest during the free times. 

In truth, this lad had not much to do. The shadow had very few companions and very little duties. All things the moth chooses to do when outside his cocoon are of his own will. Most things he does are to stir the tides towards a happier end, though the lad fears that all he does in very little in the end. The worth of his contributions means very little in the end. A somewhat happier moment, a somewhat less terrible passing. Very little. And it is fitting, for he is but a shadow, and shadows were never meant to truly touch this side of the veil. 

Most things he does, then, are simply to please Lily Mother and the companions the shadow has while he has them. Lips sing the choir to bring joy to the ears, they sip the tea to give Sister-Daughter a vessel to hear her stories, the sights absorbed in the book room so that the False Mask may not grow overbold. And his talons sink into garden soil so that red flowers may grow for the Fell Knight.

Tis not often that this lad finds the walking hands traveling to Lily Mother's place of work. But it is also not often this lad is awoken by the messy messengers that wish they were not messaging. 

The lad pulls upon his hood, protecting the face, peering past a corner, and making sure the way is most safe. The lad sneaky sneaks past the corner and down the path, stepping over a stray purr, whom then prances after he. So many purrs. There are so many, many, purrs here. Twas never a bad until the lad had to sneakily about. But one purr shan't stop the creeping walking hands.

"Come purr, we must away." The lad sneaks down the stone way. Lily Mother wishes he to a student be, and if the tide is correct, as this lad does hope, then soon he shall a death await. Soon, soon, the lad shall be the sacrificial purr so that others may not. Cannon Fodder. He shall be nothing more, a nothing that shall finally have use.

It is so wonderful, it makes the joy drown his blood pump.

The lad folds flesh talon's against a stone wall, thanking it for hiding his vessel than peering past it, and towards the last walkway he must traverse without coming upon Caramel Father and burdening he with his being. He wishes not to remind father of his being, to inconvenience with his breathing. But the sights do not see him, so he steppity steps out and begins the tiny journey from here to there. Just a little more, just a little...

"What are you doing?"

The lad freezes, his vessel tensing. The lad turns, sights catching dark skin and Golden cloth. The lad pauses, talons finding the hood and clutching it, a comfort to the blood pump, "This one...the moth must away to see Lily Mother."

The Verdant Wind leans in, green sights studying the lad with skeptical scrunches. "Looks like you're sneaking around and acting shady to me."

"This lad is sneaky sneaking, yes." The lad shuffles, clutching the hood tightly. The Verdant Wind wishes to breeze in and finds answers to all truths, and tis what he does now. Even in tides, the Butterfly chooses he not, the Wind seeks the truth always. The lad wonders, for a breath, if this change in tides as lead to an ending to which the Butterfly shall flutter on the Wind's breeze. A week past and the lad still has not seen all the endings, so mayhap. Perhaps that is how the Wind has found he? But no, how? The lad is irrelevant to the story.

"Trying to steal something?" The Wind quirks a brow, lips spreading thin and quirking upwards, "Or are you trying to pull a prank?"

"No..." The lad shuffles again, unused to such accusations, "This one must sneakily sneak to avoid being a bother. This one is sorry to have caught the Verdant Wind's attentions. This pitiful shadow shall sneakily sneak more sneakily when next the shadow walks."

"Hey now," the Verdant Wind says, his grin of managed mischief growing wide, "You're not bothering anyone, in fact, you're one of the few interesting things here." 

The lad tensed, oh no, oh no- _no- **no**_. The Verdant Winds gaze was upon he, this would not do. For the Verdant Wind was loud and tempting, oh so tempting, but this lad was to be the Shadows. To remain in the Shadows as he was meant to do. But now the Wind approached the lad, to befriend, to wonder, to pull secrets from he? The lad did not know.

He could not care either, it was not his station to do so anymore.

"This lad does not want to be interesting," he admits, his talons curled around his robes, the Shadow must from here away soon, the Azure Purrs will soon be done with their training, and the lad must not be seen by Sister as he was ereyesterday. He had been caught in her gaze and almost reached out to be in her light, her gaze impassive as always, he did not meet her orbs in fear of what he may find there.

But the purrs, the purrs spurred him to stay to make sure no harm came to she, and then the Old Face spoke, so happy to see Sister.

"Well that's too bad, you're the Archbishops' son," the Verdant Wind inched closer, his green eyes full of deceit and longing. Guilty felt the lad, for he hoped the Wind would never with the Butterfly run, "Surely you know some secrets about the Monastery walls."

The Purrs gathered at his walking talons and hissed at the Winds form, the Wind stayed still, his orbs confident yet a liar he was.

"The purrs like you not, excuse this lad," he said to the Wind, the Blue Purrs were inches away, "But he must away to the Lily Mother now."

"Whoa." The Winds calls, catching the lad's limb and keeping him from fluttering away. The tanned talons hold gently, but they burn hot as a brand, "No need to run off, let me walk you."

_What?_

This...this should not be? Why would Verdant Wind do this? The lad gave him all the excuses needed to away from he. This lad has been made undesirable. The purrs have come to the moth's defense and tried to away the wind. So why?

"This lad does not have what Verdant Wind seeks." The shadow speaks, and it is the truth. The lad knows many secrets of what is here, and what is to come, but he cannot speak with certainty of what has been before. Old Face can, for he remembers, but the lad wishes not to burden his being upon a perfect shadow. And the task would be a waste either way, for the Verdant Wind wants for more than the truth. He seeks union, a bridge between peoples, and this lad...is not a people.

"I wouldn't say that." Verdant Wind locks their arms, and he leans his head, sights peering from the side to catch glimpses of the lad's vessel. "I think you and I have a lot we could talk about."

The purrs hiss, swiping at the Wind's walking hands, but their tiny claws only catch his pants. The wind huffs, uncaring as he simply lifts his walking hand, kicking out and unloading the purrs. Forrest sights turn to he, and lips spread, "Let's get you to your mother, huh?"

"But...why?" The lad asks, frowning. He does not wish to do this. It will only be another loss when the Butterfly shines through and casts away the shadow with her brilliant light. Verdant Wind has already beholden the Butterfly, witness her grace. So why bother with the lesser of them? The moth will only be forgotten in time, so what is this?

"Well...it'd be pretty rude of me to let the archbishops' son go off by himself now, wouldn't it." Verdant Wink winks at he, leaning in, "And, like I said, you're probably one of the most interesting people here."

The lad has heard more than enough. It is very clear to he that the Wind is mistaken. He makes to try and escape, turning to twist his vessel and wriggle away. Only it is too late, and the class of Blue Purrs turn the corner, lead by Butterfly Sister.

She stops upon seeing they, and the Blue Purrs stop behind she. She blinkity blinks. Once, twice. Then she speaks, “It’s you.”

“It is **not**.” The lad answers, “This lad is no one.”

“Oh, hey teach.” Verdant Wind raises a hand, grinning that grinly grin grin. His sights alight, and he nudges the lad forward, “I see you met Byleth here.”

The Butterfly pauses, perhaps surprised, and the lad wishes he could away from here. Her brows narrow, just a bit, just the smallest bit, and she speaks, “What?”

“Oh, yeah, you two share a name. How could I forget.” The Wind pretends, and the lad knows he is pretending because he is smiling as he knocks his own head, “Seems the archbishop and Sir Jeralt had the same naming ideas. Funny how they both named their kid Byleth. Great minds, eh?”

She ignores the Wind, turning her sights on the lad. “Your name is Byleth too?”

The shadow slinks back, or tries. The Wind’s arm is still tight around he, and it keeps he from fleeing back to the shadows. No, he hasn’t a choice but to try and beg forgiveness from her. “No, this one...he is no longer Byleth. This one apologizes.”

"What do you mean, _'No longer Byleth'_?" The Butterfly asks, her brows slightly furrowed to convey confusion for he. But he needs it not, he will always know what she means, he briefly wonders if it is the same for her.

"This one cannot be Byleth as well," he insists, trying to sneak away from the Verdant Winds warm hold, a hold that is warm and kind. 

~~_**—Rough sands, calloused finger pluck-pluck-plucking the bowstring made the hide of a four-legged beast. There's fine silks that the Lad could've had, a warm yellow sun dares to shine upon him, but the Wind the wind the Wind–the sweet wonderful Wind—** _~~He must not look, the lad must not—for he will _never_ see that Wind.

"Why?" The Ginger Mage asks her tiny form invisible to his sight, until she circles, circles around the towering forms before her, pushing between the kind too kind Azure Moon and the Loyal so so Loyal Shield, "Why can't you both be Byleth? We should be calling her Professor Eisner anyway!"

A chorus, a choir, a purr of agreement amongst the Bluest of Purrs.

"No no, no," the lad insists, wrenching his talon from the grip of the Verdant Wind, his spine, his lone spine for he is not the Old Face with 20 spines and tongues, hits the wall by which he meant to sneak sneak," This lad is Byleth no longer, no longer Byleth is he!"

"Hey, you can be Byleth too," the Wind insists, his smile does not ease the lad, it does not.

"It is only a name, I am sure the Professor doesn't mind," the Knight Keeper suggests, her seeing orbs tracking the purrs that surround the lad," Right Professor?"

The Butterfly merely nods, her seeing orbs betraying nothing, though he is sure she is furious with him. The Purrs do not understand, the large Purrs of Blue do not either, but Butterfly Sister, the sweet kind Butterfly, kneels before he, face with no change to his seeing orbs, he is sure now. Angry with the Lad is she, for he was to remain in the Shadows.

"Okay, okay," she says, her talon reaching out to soothe though the tiny purrs by his feet hiss and bare teeth, in turn, the Butterfly offers her own free talon for the purrs to sniff, "Let's...start again.

"I am Professor Byleth, what's your name?"

He does not know, this tide he has not seen. To what end does it flow, he does not look, merely gazes at the Butterflies orbs, and with his seeing orbs sees... curiosity. Curiouser and curiouser is the Butterfly with he.

"... Bylad."

It's too much, it is more than too much. The lad is inserting into where he is not to be, taking time away from sister and her Blue Purrs. Unnecessary, a waste of flowing time. The lad is intruding, it is known. So the moth tries to peel away, alas, the moth is held verbally hostage when the Clever Fox wages his clever tongue. " _Ooooh_. I get it. He's guy Byleth, the professor is a girl Byleth. Bylad. Get it? It's a nickname."

" _Oooohhhh._ " The Gingerbread Mage lets out, "Oh. That's a relief, for a minute there I thought he was really just...giving up his name! Now I feel kind of silly thinking he was doing something that extreme."

"Oh, yes, it does seem rather silly now." The Knight Keeper relaxed her shoulders, daring a smile.

The shadow does not smile, however. It seems the pitiful moth chose a poor name. It feels it's cheek meats heat in humiliation, and it reaches to pull the hood further over its face, hiding its shame. The shadow is truly a fool, a fool that could not even name itself correctly. Tis no wonder it is the unfavored child of fate. Even if sister did not exist, even if this shadow were the face of the story f Byleth, the lad would not be loved as well. Only one of the three would love he, and even then only because there is no sister to love. No, he is the unfavored and the unwanted. Why take he when there is she? Why bother with he that cannot even choose the right name when she can bond with all the turning of the tides?

"Bylad..." The Butterfly tests the name the shadow had foolishly granted itself. The purrs, ever defiant in the face of fate, hiss at she, swiping away her talons. She gives up petting them with her affections then, and the fool purrs are left behind in favor of her blank gaze turning upon him. "I suppose it's nice to make your acquaintance, Bylad."

_Suppose._

"This shadow must away." The shadow pulls the hood further, pulling away from the Wind and stepping away. The purrs cease their defenses, following after he, foolishly defiant of the obviously better choice until the very end. "Lily Mother calls."

"Wait, if you're Bylad, does that make teach Bylass?" The Wind gives chase, but the lad knows this to be a trap, and keeps awaying, talons holding the hood in place. But the Wind, he is persistent, "Hey! Come on! Don't run away!"

The lad speeds away, his purrs at his walking hands, a protection for pursuit.

"Running makes me want to chase you more! I'm just going to go ahead and tell you that!"

"Aw he ran away," Annette moaned. It was obvious he would run away, Claude reasoned, the boys' cheeks were going red, and he pulled his hood down to cover the front of his face. The poor guy probably thought they were making fun of him, he wasn't so sure about the Professor though. Her face was ever difficult to read, not a single thing betraying what she felt.

"It was odd how quickly he left," Mercedes noted, a hand on her cheek. Mercedes was wondering, the devout girl mind no doubt conjuring all manner of reasons for why he left.

"It wasn't so odd," Claude said, his face an echo to the same smile he gave the Professor some days ago when he was trying to convince her to lead the Golden Deer before her demotion and then...Her half-promotion?

"How so?" Dimitri asked, finally speaking since they encountered the boy, Bylad. The Archbishops Son, the Seer.

"He–" Claude began, Byleth had cut him off before he could finish his sentence.

"He thought we were making fun of him," the Professor said. 

"How right you are, Professor?" Claude smirked, her face still didn't crack.

"What, we weren't making fun of him!!" Annette insisted her face the picture of worry.

"You weren't, but that's what he thought was happening," the Professor explained, really the Professor was getting more and more intriguing with each passing day. Of course, he'd just dig for more information on her from Dimitri later, the Archbishops son was equally as intriguing as the new professor, but no one had any eyes on him just yet.

"Wow Teach didn't think you would know," Claude said, poking at the young Professor, her gaze transfixed on Bylad's trail, his form no longer visible.

"No," Byleth said plainly, and turned on her heel and walked towards the classrooms," You wouldn't."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bylad stumbles upon Claude, Claude who he hates, yet still loves. Obviously, but like I said before Bylad doesn't think he's important to the greater narrative, nor does it come across his mind that people may actually genuinely like him. Even Claude, for all his alternative reasons for befriending Bylad, is in a similar spot to Bylad. People might not like the actual Claude, so he puts on the face of trickster and problem child.
> 
> ...
> 
> Holy shit we made a parallel I didn't know we were making.
> 
> Well jokes on the both of them, people actually like them and want to spend time with them, AND all of their issues.
> 
> Do you recall the tag about this being Misunderstandings the novel? Well, example one, Byleth trying to express interest in Bylad, the boy who seems to know everything about her, I guess you could say the dragon blood within them both is reacting to the fact they're family, not to mention Old Face and Sothis' interference is resulting in some more questions and reasons Byleth has for chasing after Bylad.
> 
> And her reaction to Bylad also having been called Byleth?  
> Byleth: Finally, proof that my name isn't weird!!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'd like to preface this by explaining we'd just finished watching Lord of the Rings at the time of this being written and we fucking LOVE LOTR and Jolkien Rolkien Rolkien Tolkien. But anyway, we were on an LOTR vibe high and we included some of that in here in a myriad of ways, this chapter is my most favorite, and if you are also reading Cult of Seiros...Just STAN this Rhea, this Rhea is great.
> 
> She smokes Shire Leaf, aka weed, this Archbishop rocks!!
> 
> SN!Rhea: Cult!Rhea is going to take you down the road of rules, I'M GONNA TAKE YOU DOWN THE ROAD THAT ROCKS!!
> 
> Anyway, enjoy some Dragons getting high on weed!!

The work is never done.

Quills scratch against parchments, papers are passed, the numbers are estimated, and still, Seteth's work is never done. 

The man rubs his eyes, more than tired of... _everything._ It's been a long week, the longest he's had in a very, _very,_ long time. He's exhausted, and somehow still behind on all of his work despite having done nothing but work since the week began. It is only the beginning of the year and everything going wrong.

He had been expecting work to increase. The beginning of the year is always busy, after all, but this is beyond the previous years. Between trying to smooth relationships with the three neighboring nations after the bandit attack that endangered the heirs to their governmental leaders, and budgeting this year's funds, and trying to find responsible teaching staff, Seteth finds himself dramatically more overworked than he has in previous years. 

He is only happy Sir Jeralt has returned to take up his duties as knight captain again. Ser Catherine and Sir Alois, bless them, are quite terrible at their paperwork. Jeralt, though he is a perfect stranger to Seteth, is at least adequate with his paperwork, and does not require extra effort to correct.

The knight captain did, however, come with his own set of problems.

Namely, Seteth hasn't seen his nephew all week.

Frowning, he takes a moment to set down his quill. Folding his hands, he rests his chin on his intertwined fingers, thinking deeply. Something has changed as of late, and not for the better. Rhea, while never having been overly confident in him with her secrets, has been frustratingly elusive with the situation at hand, downright refusing to speak of what happened between she and captain Jeralt, and how she is connected to his daughter.

Unfortunately for his dear sister, he is no fool.

Seteth has been serving in Garreg Mach for some years, and he would like to think he is fairly close to his nephew. He has seen the boy's face before. He's bathed the boy when he was much younger and needed an adult to watch him while his mother was busy. He knows what the boy looks like, head to toe, and he is not a blind man. It's very clear he and the new professor are related, so clear that everyone that has ever seen the boy's face has come to the same conclusion as he. They're simply too similar to be cousins or some other distant relation. 

No, those are siblings if he'd ever seen a pair.

And yet Rhea still refused to explain what, exactly, is going on with them. She just remains vague, giving no answers to his questions other than promises that she's working to fix everything. It's frustrating, and he wonders if she even realizes he realizes. 

And he hasn't seen his nephew all week.

The man lets out a frustrated breath. It had been clear, based on his nephew's worrying behavior over the last month or so, that something has been terribly wrong with the boy. He'd always been...odd. And he'd always had troubling issues that Seteth had meant to address, but it seems that he had waited too long. According to the reports he has collected from the boy's teachers, he has all but reverted to a hermit. He never removes his hood when going outside, and he's even discarded his own name as of late, according to complaints from Manuela and Hanneman. 

It is incredibly troubling, and very clear signs of what could very well become destructive behavior. It is destructive behavior, and it needs to be curved before it becomes something _worse_. Rhea needs to tell him what's wrong so he can do something to help the boy.

The father in him leaves him a nervous wreck at the thought of leaving this unchecked. The advisor knows to ignore it to be unwise.

The doors to the main audience chamber creak open loudly, and the man lets his green eyes spy towards the doorway, where a blur of robes shoots past.

Ah, speak of Thisis and he will come.

The advisor stands from his desk, sneaking forward. He has an inkling what Rhea will speak to her son of, having signed off the papers himself, but he wishes to gauge the boy's reactions. If his sister will not help him, then he will have to help himself and find a solution to the issue before something regrettable happens. Something that can't be fixed.

So he listens in, a spy through and through, and feels no shame

Ah, Byl—" His sister begins, her voice falls and she begins again, "Bylad, how are you? Would you like some tea, Seteth has left me enough time," She'd given up broaching the topic of his nephew's father and sister. The former of which he had a very clear opinion of and the latter of which had yet to be seen. Though the girl was making things a bit easier now. 

"Nay Lily Mother, this Lad came so the sight of the tide wouldst be made true," Bylad answered.

Of course, of course, his nephew's foresight always was a most troublesome thing to work around but work around it Rhea and he tried. They often times failed but the content look on Bylad's face was enough. 

"Ah, then...there are no objections, Seteth hasn't finalized everything just yet if you don't want to—" 

"Nay, Lily Mother," Bylad cut her off," This lad merely wished to confirm the tides." 

"Oh, alright then," he can hear the disappointment in Rhea's voice, but she's quick to recover so Bylad won't worry that he's done anything to disappoint her, "Would you like anything else, anything at all?" 

"The Purrs, the Purrs would like to go to the garden, by the Lily Mother's leave?"

"Of course my dear." 

Quickly making his way to the opening of his office, he adjusted his clothes to appear as if he was just exiting his office. Though this wouldn't fool Rhea, her sense of smell hadn't diminished unlike his own, now that his other form was lost to him. He had planned to run into Bylad, though as always the Seer was one step ahead of him, stopping only to greet him before making his way to the gardens with his...ever-growing brood of cats.

"What troubles you so, Bylad?" Seteth whispered after his retreating form, glancing at the closed door to the Knight Captains' office, he felt his temper rise before settling it down again. It wouldn't do for the Advisor to the Archbishop to argue with her, not with how loud their voices got at times. Though he had lost their Mother's blessing to change forms between Divine and Mortal forms, Cichol still had their Mother's blood.

"Your Grace, I beg leave for private counsel," Seteth announced striding through the open doors of the audience chambers. Rhea glanced at him from her conversation with some of the more... conservative members of the clergy, and waved them and all the nuns within the chamber away. The last to leave shut the door behind them with a resounding thud.

" **⟨I never thought I'd see the day when the honorable law-abiding Cichol would take to skulking around like a common spy⟩** ," Rhea—no Seiros said as she walked towards the more secluded section of the audience chambers.

" **⟨I never thought I'd see the day when Mighty Seiros would allow anyone who harmed her loved ones to walk her halls, but...all things tend to change⟩** ," he replied, eyeing the cabinet where some of their...shared stress stash was stored.

"What a cruel thing to say," Seiros spoke, folding her hands pleasantly. "I would never allow for such a thing. If anyone truly hurt him..."

"I know exactly what you would do." Cichol finishes for her, walking towards the cabinet and throwing it open. He takes out a bag of his favorite. He turns towards her, clicking his tongue, "I helped you last time if you recall."

His sister doesn't respond, only accepts the item he tosses toward her with a graceful catch. He leans against a pillar, humming as he scratches his chin, puffing out a thick ring of smoke from his pipe. It's been a long time since he's had a good pipe, needing to be a responsible diplomate and advisor, but it feels good to relax again. It's time like these he feels thankful he took a bipedal form rather than the dragon form his brothers favored. "Something is wrong with your son."

" _Grandson._ " Seiros corrects as she blows a thick ring of smoke from her own lips. Ah, finally, some answers. This is why he enjoys smoking. It's one of the only times his sister is ever relaxed enough to talk to him honestly. "He's my grandson."

"So he's an actual blood relation." Cichol chews on the pipe, humming in appreciation. He settles her with an even look, unjudging, "I didn't know you had a child."

She doesn't say anything more on the subject, and he doesn't ask either. He knows she won't speak more on the issue, she was never open about these things. And if she hasn't mentioned the father, then he must be the least important aspect of all this. Though he feels slightly offended that she hadn't bothered telling him that he'd had a niece.

"That explains the visions," Cichol states evenly, holding the pipe away from himself. He scratches his beard, wondering, "So that makes the new professor your granddaughter?"

Seiros looks away, not bothering with an answer. But her lack of an answer is, in itself, enough of an answer. So Cichol huffs, crossing his arms and taking another smoke. This is ridiculous, _absurd_. How had this been allowed to happen? What had happened? He very clearly doesn't see a mother in the picture. Jeralt's claim that she had been lost seems to hold some water at least, and it matches his sister's claim that Byleth's mother has died.

"It would help me if I knew what was wrong with Byleth." Cichol tells her bluntly, "I can't help him if you don't tell me what's going on."

"He wants to be called Bylad now," Seiros states simply, blowing more rings. When she's done, she looks at him, frowning deeply, "He claims they both can't be Byleth."

"And that's _part of the problem._ " Cichol reminds her. "He's right, but the fact he's _too willing_ to give up his name should be a warning sign. I need to know what's going on so I can prepare for what he might do."

She looks away from him, lips pouting. She stares at the stain glass windows for a long, long, time. Finally, she speaks, "I...don't even know where to begin."

"You don't have to tell me everything." Cichol gives an inch, "Just give me a general idea for how this all happened. If I understand that, maybe I can understand Bylad's thought process and stop whatever he's planning for himself."

She's silent for a moment not moving before she takes a long draw from her pipe. Blowing a long breath of smoke as she thinks on what she'd like to say. Cichol smokes his own pipe as well waiting for his sister to gather her scattered thoughts.

"I had a daughter...named Sitri, one of 12 terrible, _wrong_ experiments..." Seiros began, her voice nearly a whisper, as she narrated all that had come to pass before Cichol came to be Seteth.

* * *

"So," Cichol said, his anger leaking into his voice after she had explained everything. The experiments to revive mother, Sitri being the last, an actual niece he had not known, and an in-law who once left the Monastery with his daughter. His Sister, his foolish older sister, "You dug up your Son-in-laws' dead son and resurrected him with the _God of the Underworlds_ Crest. It is no wonder then that he is the way he is."

This caught her ire, " **Bylad is Bylad** , do not think to blame his quirks on the Crest Stone. We did not know Uncle, as well as Eithnui, did. And this is only the first time the Stone has been bonded to someone."

"Did you not intend for Mother's Psyche to override the psyche of the vessel," Cichol retorted, "What is stopping the same from happening with Uncle's?!"

"It will not happen with Uncles—"

 ** _"You don't know that!!"_** He shouted, interrupting her, Cichol very rarely yelled or shouted at his sister with such anger. He had done so only once before, when she had begun telling his nephew, grand nephew his inner conscience reminded him, about his father. 

A father that had shown up no less than a week ago with a daughter in tow.

"Uncle is _not_ like Mother, you are right we **do not** know Uncle like Eithniu did," Cichol said, "But that doesn't mean you can use the past experiences as a base for whether or not he will be okay!!"

Taking a moment to gather himself with what little Eithniu had explained to him before she left, never to be seen again until she appeared as Blaiddyds weapon, he thought how best to put this.

"I have to hope though don't I," Seiros whispered, her face hidden by her hands, she had set her pipe down during his scolding, "I have to hope that Bylad will be okay no matter what, _I must._ "

He forgets that despite how late she had hatched, she was from a much older brood than he was. Seiros had lived in isolation for so long, he wondered if her reaching out was so that she wouldn't be alone anymore. She always was prone to bouts of melancholy when there was no one around. The people at the Monastery could only keep her loneliness at bay for so long. They were mortal, prone to death, his sister and he, their family and bloodline, a Primordial force that knew not time until it took from them. 

"I know...but if the girl, your granddaughter truly does have Mother's Crest Stone and Bylad has Uncle's...he may be inevitably drawn to her," Cichol said.

"Is that truly such a terrible thing?" Seiros asks, pulling the pipe away from her lips and settling back onto the steps of the altar, "Is there something wrong with him wanting to reach out to his family?"

"...no" Cichol blew out his own smoke ring, letting the stress melt away. "I don't suppose there is. But we still should consider whether or not our uncle is affecting Bylad's development and desires at all."

Seiros frowned deeply, her fingers tightening around her pipe. "Mother's consciousness never awoke in past vessels, and Bylad..."

"Bylad is odd." Cichol reminds her, "And working with a crest stone you've never used before. Uncle's power flows through him, else he would not be alive. And, what's more, uncle maybe who Bylad gets his seer abilities from."

"Yes, I've observed as such, thank you Cichol." Seiros does not smile at him, merely tapping her pipe with her finger. "I've been observing his behavior since he was a young child, he's never outright show signs of being overwritten. I've also...asked him."

"What?" Cichol almost drops his pipe, "You asked him?"

"Yes." Seiros nods, gripping her own pipe tightly, "He is very much...aware...of uncle, and claims there have been times they have... _spoken_."

"So, not only is he aware that he is, essentially, a vessel for uncle, purposeful or not, but he also claims to speak to him." Cichol doesn't think taking a smoke will help the sudden spike of stress. He tries anyway, but it is useless. So he blows out the remainder of the smoke, pushes himself off the pillar, and stands squared shouldered, "Seiros, _what were you thinking?_ "

"I was _ **thinking**_ , Cichol." She hisses, glaring at him, "That a **living** grandchild is better than a **dead** one."

She has a devastatingly good point. For all he is odd, for all he is broken, Bylad is very much alive. He is alive, and breathing, and can be saved if he allows them to help him. When he looks at it like that, it's hard to be angry at his sister.

Still...

"Seiros has it occurred to you that this may have negatively affected his development," Cichol asks, his headache growing terrible and throbbing. He reaches up to massage his temples, "If he realizes that he was meant to be overwritten..."

"I know Cichol." Seiros hisses, standing with a flourish, "And I know that our uncle has been whispering in his ear. And I know that whatever the future holds, it's scared him. And I know he doesn't value himself. It's very obvious Cichol. Now stop telling me what has made him this way and start helping me fix it."

"Why haven't you done anything before this?" He asks, rubbing his forehead. "Why didn't you tell me the moment our uncle started speaking to him?"

"I have." Seiros hisses right back, "Why do you think I encourage him to have hobbies? Why do you think I'm trying to encourage friendships? Why do you think you're here?"

"And what are you going to do if our uncle is groom Bylad to be overwritten?" Cichol asks, putting out his pipe, "What if Bylad's recent behavior is because he is getting ready to be replaced?"

"That won't happen." Seiros grips the pipe so hard it snaps in half, "That will _**never**_ happen."

"And how do you know?" He asks, standing firm.

"Because Bylad told me." She said back, "You know he cannot lie, and I ask him every day if our uncle is going to take over. Whatever it is he fears, it's not being replaced by uncle."

So then what could it be?! What could it be that has him so scared now that he has forgone his name in lieu of one that is more or less a nickname instead of a name. If only he knew how all this nonsense began, they could make strides to fixing the issue.

"If only we knew how all this began..."Cichol lamented.

Silence, Seiros had neither made a noise of affirmation or annoyance. Nothing. Looking over at her by the altar, she froze, looking at the mosaic of their mother and what remained of their family. Their sibling's Crests, or the ones Seiros had been able to remember circling the entire piece.

" _The beginning..._ " Seiros muttered.

"Seiros?"

"Before Jeralt and Byleth even reached the Monastery, he had begun to insist on being called Bylad," Seiros said her hand reached up to cover her mouth, a dreading horror dawned upon them both.

"He gave up his name because there couldn't be two of them...an odd sentence because it's usually said by the villain in...Flayns'...books," Cichol realized, lowering his pipe. 

It lined up, Bylad being unseen for days, but Byleth being seen all around the Monastery. Bylads withdrawal and continued use of his hood. His name change.

"Bylad thinks he's going to die."

 _'Well,'_ Cichol thought, _'That'll do it.'_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So a fandom friend had a whole headcanon that the dragons mentioned in sync with the months in the game are Sothis' direct children, and that she had them either in her mortal form or dragon form and they're were born that way, for your information Seiros is technically one of the older broods but she didn't hatch from her egg until waaaay later, like when Seteth, the baby of the family was born. 
> 
> Eithnui, means little flame, and is the oldest of Sothis' children, Seteth was very attached to her, her title was known as the grim Dragon. Something she hated, as the oldest she was one of the DeathGod's favorites, being the firstborn of his sister. She left a few years after Seteth was born and Seiros/Rhea hatched.
> 
> Well, we hope you liked Stoner!Rhea and Seteth!! Sorry for the delay, I'll try and remember next week!!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya bitch tried...she also failed, anyway. Here we goooo

It had been three days since Jeralt had sent the letter, which by his count meant it had arrived and his brothers were probably running every manner of test on it to make sure it was real. He couldn't blame them, it'd make sense given how things had gone down after he left. Jeralts' curiosity had gotten the better of him, and he'd gone looking for news on Faerghus in the last century.

Imagine his surprise when he saw his father's portrait inside the Faerghus History book right beside " _Mad King_ " Maglors'. Jeralt almost burst out laughing, trust his father, a man who, according to Balin had his own brush with madness when he was younger. Jeralt could see it and could be no prouder of his father for giving his life for the future of Faerghus.

His curiosity satisfied, that left him with nothing to do but consider how to tell his daughter...about her brother. God's...his father never got to meet his grandchildren. Just another regret to add to the pile, he supposes. Thinking about this is making him want to drink, but he needs to be sober. 

For both his kids.

A knock on the door interrupts his thoughts, as they always do. 

"Come in." He hopes it's his daughter, but his hopes are dashed and leave him confused because who but the Faerghan Prince pokes his head in, looking very stiff and tense. Poor kid.

"How can I help you, Prince Dimitri?"

"Ah, no need for formalities Captain Jeralt," the Prince says with an easy smile on his face that betrays the dark circles under his eyes. The Prince looks away for a moment, and that's when he notices the paper in boys' hands," Unless that means I should address you as Lord Eisner."

So that's how it was gonna be. 

"That depends on Your Highness, "Jeralt leans forward in his chair, "what's in the letter."

The prince merely smiled politely, stepping forward holding two thick envelopes. The parchment was worn, but an orange wax seal broken on the top tip of the Eisner family seal stamped into it, upside down and mocking him with its existence.

"Ah, the family wrote to you?" Jeralt folds back against his seat, eyeing the prince warily. "Or did they write to me and you assumed the letter was for you."

"Ah." The prince kept that polite smile on his face, walking further into the room and past the cushioned seats he kept for meetings and scared witnesses. He stands in front of the desk, fiddling with the parchment in his hands, "A bit of both, really."

"A bit of both?" Jeralt raises his eyebrow, "What? Did they include a letter for both of us?"

"Yes, actually." The prince chuckles lightly, holding up his own letter, though not turning it for Jeralt to read. "The current lord of the house asked me to make sure you were the actual Jeralt Eisner."

"Ah." Jeralt scratched the back of his neck, wrinkling his nose, "Didn't their own ways to make sure I'm the real deal?"

"Apparently, your brothers, who are in their early hundreds, might I add, have had the current lord run over every test on itself. But they are, understandable, rather skeptical that you are who you say."

"I'm Jeralt..." He scratched his neck, "And I'm old as shit."

The prince raised a brow at him, obviously wondering how such a development as his obvious youth occurred when his younger brothers are elderly men that can't walk and probably have one foot in the grave already. But the records are there, and the prince has probably already searched them if he's smart. And with the archbishop's word on his identity backing him, along with captain Alois', then the prince had no reason to think otherwise. 

"...are you, perhaps, the son of the original Jeralt Eisner?" The prince tapped the letter with his finger.

"If that's what you want to think." The captain shrugs off.

The prince hummed, and what he decided to think, Jeralt didn't care. The boy simply accepted his identity idly, straightening out his letter again, "Lord Varric Eisner, son of Kili Eisner and his wife Lady Tauriel, has informed me that he finds your story to be, and pardon my language, **"total hoorker shit"** and that he would pay me a generous coin to give you a good hard kick before I write him back."

Jeralt's brows hit his hairline. Now that wasn't a very lordly thing to say at all. But it was what he probably should have expected one of his brother's kids to write, "And what about if I'm the real thing?"

The prince revealed another letter he hid behind the paper in his hand, this one with an unbroken seal, "He asked me to give you this. He wrote it on behalf of his father."

Finally, word from the family. Or at least the family head. The captain sighed in relief, reaching out to take the letter from the prince's hand, "Thank you, your highness."

"It is no trouble Captain Jeralt." The prince shook his head, "I'd hate for you to not be able to reconnect to your family. Though, I feel I should warn you Lord Eisner has given me a letter to deliver to both your children as well."

Jeralt froze, his hands gripping the paper tightly. When he spoke, his voice is critically even, "What did Lord Eisner say?"

"He just asked me to deliver the letters to both your children." The prince shook his head, folding down the letter over his desk and revealing two more sealed letters. "I can guess that the professor is your first child, obviously, but I feel that there was, perhaps, a misunderstanding. Or that something that is none of my business has occurred. In which case, I'll leave you to deliver these letters at your own discretion."

At that moment, Jeralt had never had more of an appreciation for the Blaiddyd line. He sighed, grateful that the kid knew how to mind his own business when he needed to. "Thank you."

"But, Lord Eisner." The prince's blue eyes met him, "I do urge you to, perhaps, straighten out whatever happened with your daughter before you involve her in Faerghus politics. I fear that things have gotten very much more...complicated...over the last few years."

"I'm not planning to get involved with politics." Jeralt waves off, folding forward, "I'm not the heir, we don't need to get involved."

"A fair choice." The prince nodded, understanding. And, again, Jeralt never felt so grateful for the Blaiddyd's. "In which case, I will respectfully remove myself from this situation."

"Thank you." Jeralt breaths, his eyes meeting the prince's, "And...your highness, this whole thing...can we keep this just between us? I...ah...I want to talk to my daughter myself about this."

"As you wish, Sir Jeralt." The prince bowed his head towards him.

The prince left after that, and Jeralt was left with an unopened heavy letter. The family symbol of Bear and Shield staring back at him. It stung a bit, but he was the Jeralt Eisner and he couldn't blame his nephew for wanting to be completely sure of him being the real deal. His brothers deserved to be spared the heartbreak. He didn't write back in years and the first thing he wrote was about discovering his lost son. 

He felt as old as he actually was now. This year would make what, 120? How much older was he than Fili? Bah, it mattered little. The heavy letter in his hands weighed him more than the weight of his life.

It was a hefty letter, he wondered who wrote it. Fili? Kili? Perhaps his nephew, Varric? Or perhaps the sister in law he once saw Kili chase after to no avail, or perhaps Jeralt was so caught up in his own life he did not think to look after his brothers.

That's what they probably thought of his first letter to make it home. That only after so long, did Jeralt think to write them. Opening up the drawer hidden beneath his desk he looks at all the half written notes and parchments he was too scared to send back. Too ashamed of how he had left to send anything to them. He's about to close it when he catches the sealed envelope that still remains in his desk. 

Odd. He did not recall ever once making it far enough in a letter to have sealed it. It's an odd seal as well, one he does not recognize, it is but a single branch, well a large one. 

Leaving aside the letter he has just received his curiosity is piqued by the letter hidden within his desk, not part of the rest. He's just about to open it when the door opens without fanfare, who else but his daughter walks in, looking daily tired by the sheen of sweat on her brow, and the fact she had chosen to abandon her outer coat and armor.  
Jeralt couldn't help himself, he had a good laugh at her frazzled appearance.

" _Don't_ laugh," his daughter insisted as she dumped herself on the couch. The letters could be looked at later, right now he had important things to discuss with his daughter.

"Could you blame me?" Jeralt asked as he sat across from her, "You've never looked this tired even with the Greenhorns!"

Her eyebrows furrowed, telling him she was mad, but it didn't reach the rest of her face. Either way, it was an improvement and welcomed. 

"These kids are all crazy, I'm only the assistant professor yet they're all transferring in," Byleth informed him from where she lay down on the couch. Was she... complaining? He probably wasn't supposed to be as happy about this as he was, but he couldn't help it, she'd never complained before.

"You- _you're—_ " Jeralt began, a wide smiling breaking out on his face. A smile that had her sitting up.

"No! No, I'm not." She asserted, her brows furrowing again, in worry.

"You are! _Hahaha!!_ You're complaining!!" Jeralt slapped his knee with how funny this was. His daughter, a bonafide Eisner Grade warrior, the mercenary known as the "Ashen Demon", defeated by teenagers.

His daughter actually sent him a look. It was the most emotion he'd ever seen on her face, and it ticked him pink to see it. Fuck, fuck everything else, this is a good day. "It's not funny. Those students are **monsters.** "

"It's hilarious." Jeralt laughed, his fists beating his knee, "I've seen you take out that bandit last month like he was a chump, but _students_ have exhausted you!"

"Fraldarius doesn't stop." Byleth complained, slumping back down on the couch and staring blankly at the roof, "I don't think he knows how to quit anything. It's a duel every moment with him. And he's also very talented."

"That's the Fraldarius family for you, I don't think any of them have calmed down since the first Fraldarius picked up a weapon." Jeralt comments, leaning against his desk. His daughter shoots him another look, and he's just about damn giddy from it.

"Then Dominic...I think she may have her hands in some arcane studies that she's holding back from." His daughter goes back to staring at the roof, "Axes and magic. And Sylvain is...difficult. And I never expected Blaiddyd to be so strong. He's broken steel lances with his bare hands. I'm beginning to think I should just have him learn to brawl just to spare the blacksmith."

She was delivering it like a damn report, but he was just so happy to hear here be...frustrated with something, to be anything other than blank and empty that he didn't dare interrupt. "Yeah?"

"He broke steel with his bare hands." Byleth repeated blankly, staring at the roof still, "He wasn't sparring. Gautier made a comment about a girl that was chasing him and Blaiddyd gripped it too hard and it snapped in half. It was one hand."

"Those Blaiddyds, they've always been like that, even the crestless ones." Jeralt shrugged, "I heard King Regent Rufus once put a tax invader through a wall."

"Is he crestless? The King Regent?" 

"Yeah, last I heard he was." Jeralt shrugged.

"These students are...more than I expected." Byleth turned to stare at the roof again, "I can see why Rhea was hesitant to give me the teaching position. But now she's having an extra student transfer in soon."

Jeralt pauses, his mirth dying a bit. He knows, he knows all about that transfer, it was sort of his idea. Well, it was his and Rhea's back when she was a combat instructor. Have her teach Bylad how to hold a sword properly. Then it had to change once Byleth was all but forced to take over the Blue Lions class when Jeritza had all but quit the position. "I'm sure it'll be fine."

"I hope this one is mild-mannered and not..." She pauses, searching for the right words, "...as intense as their classmates. I don't believe the Blue Lions need another overly talented or dedicated student."

His smile fell a little at that.

"Overly talented yes...but I don't think he'll be as dedicated as you'd like."

This caught her attention, "Oh, do you know who it is?"

"Uh, "shit, he was fumbling, should he tell her that it was her brother first and then that he was going to be her student, "well, you see...It's... Byleth there's something important that I need to tell you."

"How important?" She asked, glancing at the clock on the wall, "I'm only free for an hour." Jeralt felt like kicking himself right now, the only reason she was this damn dedicated to the job already was that he taught her to be.

"It's...going to take more than an hour kid," Jeralt answered her honestly, because something like this, she'd need as much time as possible to listen to it all. And Jeralt would need that much time to list for her all the ways he'd failed her.

Looking at her now as she sat across from him, he wondered when she'd grown so big, coming back her reminded him of how small she was when Byleth was just a babe. She was so tiny, he couldn't have imagined this life for her. But it was the one he'd put together for her. Perhaps if he waited one more day, just one more before setting the fire...perhaps Rhea would have brought his son back. 

But no, him leaving in the first place landed them at this moment. He'd pay for it now.

"Oh," Byleth said, sitting upright now, hands on her knees she looked down and seemed to be thinking about it, "I think I'm allowed to let them out early, right before dinner." Her voice soured a bit at the thought of missing dinner.

He bit back his laughter, or at least tried too, it came out as a chuckle instead which got him another look and the beginnings of a pout. Alright, maybe it wasn't so bad being back here. He had started to reach out to his family again, and maybe even begun to repair the one right in front of him.

"Don't worry brat, you won't grow hungry I'll bring up two Faerghus plates for us both," Jeralt grinned. To which his daughter threw a pillow at his face, "You suck."

It was blankly said, but he swore he heard the tiniest bit of a pout in there as well.

"So I do!"

Yeah, he'd admit it felt nice to be back here. Just a little bit. The rest of the hour was spent talking about this and that, Jeralt hoped to hear some possible tinge of emotion in her voice and while he didn't hear it, it was nice to hear her speak to him on length about these things.

Byleth left once the bell for afternoon classes rang, throwing one last glance at him before leaving. Odd. He thought nothing of it and instead turned back to the letters, one from his nephew and the other from a stranger who wrote it out to him.

The front of the envelope was dated...the day before his father died in battle. The writing, the curl of the letters...Jeralt hoped he was wrong. Turning it back to the seal, he realized it wasn't just any old thick branch. It was the stamp of _"Oakenshield"_ , his father's most trusted shield. He only stamped correspondence to the crown and tossed aside letters to his mother in this. Jeralt...Jeralt was not in the right state of mind to read whatever was contained inside the letter.

If it was from his father, he didn't want to be drunk before dinner. He'd promised to talk to Byleth about her brother, and he needed to be in the clearest state of mind for it. He needed to be.

Placing both letters back in the drawer beneath the desk, Jeralt decided to lose himself in his paperwork. He'd deal with the letters tomorrow, today, today his daughter and son were the most important things on his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Baby booooooi  
> But yeah Jeralt is avoiding his feelings and Byleth show's signs of change, Dimitri smells drama afoot and decides he'll leave it in Jeralt's hands. Who knows, maybe Dimitri guessed something was up, maybe he knows.  
> Guess you'll just have to find out. >:3C


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hELL YEAH BABY, BACK ON SCHEDULE!!

She's been spending a lot of time with Dimitri lately.

It's a natural consequence of suddenly finding herself as the not-assistant professor of the Blue Lions class. He's been helping her sort everything because being a homeroom teacher was much different than being a combat instructor. Suddenly she had to plan lessons, lectures, practices, and arrange schedules with other instructors so that her students could gain experience in their preferred weapon, especially if it was a weapon she wasn't familiar with.

Luckily Dimitri was there to help her balance out the schedule a bit. While it was true an overwhelming number of her students who wanted melee combat, she still needed to make sure to include magic lectures and instructions and find room for riding and archery. It wasn't easy as she hoped. There was no one teacher that knew everything she needed for the students. Even she, their unofficial teacher, while knowledgeable in most types of weaponry and tactics, fell short for those students that wanted to learn magic, or fly, and her riding skill was rather basic.

"We'll all just have to accept learning at least a basic healing spell." Dimitri smiled, tapping the block for afternoon classes at the start of next week. "It's not a terrible thing for anyone to know. We've focused rather heavily on weapons this week, so it shouldn't be a terrible thing to focus on magic a bit. Then we can start splitting it a bit more evenly."

"But then we neglect riding classes." Byleth folded back the plans for her tactics lecture.

"There are a few instructors that are paladins," Dimitri remarked, tapping his finger against the wooden table surface. "Since most of us are lance users..."

Dimitri huffed, folding his hands, leaning against the desk, "I can see why professor Jeritza did now wish to participate in scheduling and had us self study."

The young woman couldn't help but agree. She folded her hands, puffing out a breath of air, and swiping her bangs. "Why can't I just arrange for all of you to split to different teachers based on your interests and just have a general lecture here."

"Maybe you can?" Dimitri looked uncertain, rubbing his chin, "It seems like it would be easier than trying to arrange the whole class into certain skills."

Maybe that was something she could do? That would certainly help. Maybe she should talk to Seteth about it? It'd be a way for her class to interact with the other students as well, maybe learn a bit about their own strengths and weaknesses. Though she had a good idea of them from her time as an instructor. Maybe they could make up for their poor performance at the mock battle by the time the Battle of the Eagle and Lion rolled around. 

Though, considering their poor instruction at the time and Jeritza's uncharacteristically lackluster performance, Byleth thought Dimitri held them together admirably.

"I'll talk to Seteth about whether I'm allowed to split you all up for afternoon practices." Byleth decided, holding up the next week's schedule, "For now we'll stick to your plan of focusing on magic this week. Do you know anything about the student they're having transfer in."

"I would have thought they told you about them." Dimitri stood, pushing his chair in. His blue eyes flickered over her, and Byleth wondered, not for the first time, what he was thinking behind those eyes. He's both surprisingly open and entirely closed off. "They must be expecting them to introduce themselves to you and state their goals as we did."

"I suppose it doesn't really matter." She stacked the papers neatly, "The class has enough varied interests that inserting them won't cause too much of an issue."

She stood, tucking the papers under her arms, pushing her own chair under as she did so. She turned to the Blue Lion leader, nodding her head in thanks, "Thank you for staying after class and doing this Blaiddyd."

"Of course professor." He smiled at her. It was a charming little smile, one that made him look young as he actually was. "Anytime."

It feels odd to have him call her professor, especially since he just helped her arrange the classes. She doesn't feel like a professor, more like an incredibly dedicated tutor trying to make up for the neglectful actual professor. But she doesn't tell him not to call her such, knowing he'd insist on it for respect alone. And then there was the matter of that boy she shared a name with...

"The new student should be here tomorrow, yes?" Dimitri asked, crossing his arms, "I'll be sure to get them interacting with the other students."

"Alright." She nodded. Was that something she should be making sure her students are doing? She wishes Jeritza had given her an idea. She'll ask Manuela later. Or, perhaps, it was time to track Jeritza down and drag him back. She's caught glimpses of him outside of practice instructions, usually with that strange boy that shares her name. Though she doubts he'll be more helpful than Hanneman and Manuela.

Still, perhaps it's time to remind him that he has responsibilities to attend to, like taking care of his students since he's the actual Professor.

Sothis devolved into giggles around her as she packed up her things and said her goodbyes to the Prince. The Goddess floated on by and scouted the area for Byleth, odd considering how lazy and apathetic she was to most things.

 **'I heard that,'** Sothis said, as she floated alongside her through the courtyard and into the hall, **' Honestly, you do know I'm searching for that boy again, the one that shares your name. There was a voice that called out to me, they knew me!'**

Ah yes, the voice that sounded like thousands. It was odd that meeting the boy had caused such a thing to happen, the voice sounded so happy too, calling Sothis sister, excited that it had _'found'_ her. Did the boy also share this...floating imp situation? Her chest warmed at the idea of someone going through what she was, that she could share in the experience somehow, perhaps they could trade stories and advice on how to deal with it.

 **'I see you're curious as well, alas I have yet to catch sight of him,'** Sothis moaned, her body settling on top of Byleth though it didn't feel like there was any weight on her body. It did feel like Sothis was there.

 **'We'll try and find him next time,'** Byleth assured the tiny Goddess as she made her way up the stairs. Her father had wanted to speak to her about something, and it looked like it was something as important as when he told her their family name and it's importance.

 **'Maybe it's some more stuff about the family?'** She wondered, avoiding several monks who made their way down the steps to the mess hall. Her stomach growled at the thought of food, but her father had promised he would bring some up for her. What was a Faerghus Plate anyway?

Entering his office after narrowly avoiding Seteth, she did plan on talking to him about the students soon, honestly, but right now her stomach and curiosity are what was driving her. Turning around she noticed how empty the office was, her father hadn't arrived yet. 

**'Mayhaps this is the time to snoop around?'** Sothis suggested, circling around the room, looking this way and that. Byleth wondered if she should, she was never this driven to look through her fathers' things. In fact, she had no incentive at all to ever do so. But an urge, to explore, to know overcame her. She felt her legs move to look around the desk, there were finished reports, untouched ones, and one half-written one on the desk. It was rather organized all things considered, and was a satisfying sight to see.

Feeling around the desk she found a drawer hidden beneath the opening and looked down to see a myriad of half-written letters and notes and two sealed envelopes.

She pulled out a single half-written sheet when she caught mention of Eisner. She scanned the sheet once, and then again. **'Oh,'** she realized lamely, **' He was trying to write home.'** Looking at how aged the sheet was, she guessed it was before he left. Setting it back into the drawer and closing it she quickly sat down in one of the chairs. She felt she'd poked around a little too much, and that was unfair to her father when he was trying to tell her about it all.

The door soon opened, her father carrying a tray on one arm, his other opening the door. She jumped to help him with the plate but he gestured for her to remain seated. She watched him maneuver the tray back into both arms and close the door with his foot. 

**'How did he carry that all up the stairs?'** Byleth wondered.

As if hearing her question, he said, "Eisners just have natural balance, don't ask me how, we just do, it counters by us having the absolute worst luck though so..."

"I see," Byleth said, her eyes locking onto the food, ignoring her father's laughter at her expense.

The plates were large, or at least larger than the average serving. With potatoes, greens, turnips, eggs, and cheese. Some sausages and wurst. There was bread on the side, with some chopped meat on it mixed with beans.

Her mouth watered just looking at it all, she looked up to see a pleased smile on her father's face.

"Well? Dig in," Jeralt said, and she did just that, savoring each bite.

They eat in silence, as was normal for them. They've never been a talkative family. It's never bothered her because she can't recall ever feeling any way about it in particular. Though, thinking back, she doesn't remember much before Garreg Mach. Days went by in a blur of cobbled together collections of vague recollections. There was never much she took to note. Lessons her father taught her, and that's it, she never bothered with anything else.

She cannot even really recall the names of his men if she thinks about it. They're all just meaningless faces to her. Though she knows they're working as battlefield agents that accompany church expeditions for now.

 **'That's rather sad of you.'** Sothis comments, floating in place by her side, peering down at the plate of food, **'No childhood memories? No fond recollections of traditions? No memories of friends? No fleeting moments of silly childhood games?'**

No.

 **'Well, then it sounds like you haven't been alive at all.'** Sothis floated away, **'Perhaps I was hasty to say you were deceiving me when you told me you were a ghost. You may as well have been.'**

Her father finishes his meal quietly, setting down his plate and pushes it away. He leans back, letting out a breath, watching her warily. She doesn't speak to him, focusing on finishing her own food. It doesn't take her too long to finish, her own plate joining her father's as she pushes it aside and settles into the couch cushions. 

A silence falls over them, though it's different from the silence of their meal. It's...tense. Her father watches her with his lips set in a grim line, staring at her with exhausted eyes. He clasps his hands, hunching over, his thumbs circling each other for a long while. Finally, he looks up, coughing into his hand before speaking, "Byleth, I've...been keeping some things from you."

 **'Ah, so this is the way he is choosing to do this?'** Sothis lounges across the back of the cushions, **'An obvious start, one supposes.'**

_Quiet._

"Like my age?" Byleth asks, letting her hands rest in her lap. She's curious, and it's strange, this need to know. 

**'It is not.'** Sothis denies, **'Tis your right to know.'**

"That's...part of it." Her father sighs, scratching the back of his head with a grimace, "That's one of the least important things we're going to talk about."

Her age seemed important enough to her, but she trusted her father's judgment. So she sits still, waiting for him to continue. Her father huffs again, looking for the right words he wants. Finally, he sighs, placing down his hands and taking a deep breath before starting again, "I suppose there's nowhere to start but the beginning."

He looks away from her, staring at the wall with a deep frown, "I grew up in the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus as part of a minor house. Eisner. We're not big, but we got a bit of wealth from merchant work. I was a kingdom soldier when one day I was assigned to escort Lady Rhea. I saved her life, she made me a knight, and eventually, I became her knight captain."

He stops, looking at her. But Byleth doesn't speak. It's all new to her, of course, but she doesn't have any questions yet. She assumes he has a reason for all this, something he's leading up to. Likely, it's the explanation for why they're in Garreg Mach at all.

 **'No curiosity about your family?'** Sothis asks, still lounging across the back of the couch. 

If they were worth knowing, her father would have told her.

 **'What a cold view.** Sothis comments idly.

"I met your mother here." Her father speaks at last, after several long moments of silence passed between them. Byleth finds herself paying attention then, her gaze hyper-focused on her father. His voice scratches a little, and he looks away from her. "Sitri...your mother...I met her here. We..."

He looks back at her again, his eyes exhausted, "You look a lot like her."

Ah, for the way he's acting, her father must still be mourning her mother. That explains why he never spoke of her before now. At least, not to her recollection. 

"I met her here." Her father states again, once again reaching to scratch the back of his neck, "And we married here. We got married church style, with rings and her mother's blessing and all that. And...you were born here."

Silence. Her father had stopped speaking, his eyes glassy just like all the time's outsiders brought up her mother's whereabouts when they saw her at his side. She wonders if this is a good topic for them to settle on. For him to continue with.

Not to mention as much as she wants to know more about this, the topic of her birth, all the snarking discussions with Rhea that she has seen leave him angry. Byleths mind is drawn back to those letters. The dates.

"Father, when was I born?" She asks. Her father's gaze is drawn back to her, he looks away and began count with his fingers, doing the math.

"If I'm right, 20th of Horsebow Moon, 1159," he answered, his gaze scrutinizing, "Why do you ask?"

She looked away and considered the date of the letter, which was dated the 15th of Horsebow Moon, a few days before she was born. Some of the papers were dated for later but she hadn't looked at them.

"I just...I just wanted to know, since Seteth was asking, "Byleth said, and she hoped her father would buy it. Seteth did ask, and was quite upset when she couldn't answer any of his questions, but the truth was they didn't discuss what happened in the past all too often...and Byleth wasn't curious about the past either. All she needed was her blade, her father, and some food every day. 

That was all, until now.

Her father seemed to return to eating after accepting her answer, and Byleth did much the same. They continued to eat in relative silence until her father stood abruptly, and made his way to his desk, Byleth didn't have to turn around to know that. She heard a drawers slide open slowly, silence, and then a sigh. The drawer closed, but her father did not make his way back to his food.

Suddenly she didn't feel like eating anymore either.

"Father?"

"You didn't—you didn't see any of the letters did you?" Her father asked, he sounded tired, not like he was sleepy but. He sounded like he actually was a century-old like he always joked.

"No...just the paper dates 15th of Horsebow Moon, "Byleth answered, she had her head down, and whispered, "Please don't be mad."

"I'm not—I'm not _mad_ just...I did mean it when I said all I needed was you but..."He paused, making his way back to the table two letters in his hands," Some things came up, and I realized I needed to fix some of the mistakes I've left for too long."

"Are these letters...the mistakes?"

"No, they're the answers to my mistakes. I wrote to my family for the first time in 70 years, and well your cousin wrote back," her father admitted with a nervous laugh, he shook his head, and fixed his eyes on her, "That's not the point, the point is, 21 years ago when your mother and I had you...there were _some complications._ "

"Complications?" She found herself asking without meaning to. Logically, her mind already filled in the blanks. Her mother was obviously long dead, her father still grieved it, he disappeared in a fire around the same time. It's clear her mother died from the labor. 

**'Oh my.'** Sothis uttered, covering her mouth with part of her fingers, **'How terribly tragic. I am sorry Byleth.'**

"Yeah." Her father's shoulders sagged, a long sigh leaving his lips. "She...when you were...during the labor there was...she didn't make it. Sitri, she died."

"I'm sorry," Byleth replied evenly, because that's what people said when they learned things like this, and she didn't know what else to say. She'd never thought twice about her mother before, but now, with this context, having not done so seems rather...

 **'Tragic.'** Sothis supplies for her, a hand over her heart, **'I cannot begin to imagine. To be a mother in that situation...It makes the heart feel ill'**

" **Don't be**." Her father looked at her intensely, his voice firm and eyes sharp, "Don't you ever feel sorry. Your mother wanted you. She wanted you to live, even at the cost of her life. She wanted...she wanted you _both_ to live..."

Byleth paused at that, her attention caught by the particular wording of that last sentence. Sothis, as well, was suddenly at attention, a small "oh" leaving her lips. The young woman and the spirit watched, Byleth straight-backed, hands on her knees. _"Both?"_

Her father closed his eyes, clear grief painting his features. Her father had never been an emotional man, barely showing his emotions more than she, but here his pain was plain as day. "Byleth...you didn't come into this world alone."

Was it Sothis? Did he know? He hadn't seemed to have an idea when she mentioned a girl in her dreams before. But perhaps…

Her father took a deep, deep, breath. Byleth leaned forward, odd anticipation itching within her. It was a twinging, jumpy, feeling that made the skin crawl. Even Sothis writhed in the feeling, her anticipation, and impatience bleeding into Byleth own.

"Byelth..." Her father finally breathed out, his brown eyes meeting her own dark orbs, "...Byleth, when you were born, _you_...there was a boy. You're part of a set of twins."

_What?_

**"What?"** Sothis' own disbelief was a weight in Byleth's mind, a bleeding, razzled thing.

"What?" Byleth couldn't help but repeat, because of all the things in the world she had been expecting. Of all the things her father could have told her, that certainly hadn't been one of her guesses.

"It's...like I said, there were complications." Her father tried to explain, looking away, "Neither you nor your brother came out breathing. Rhea...she...well. Rhea made your mother somehow. And Sitri, well, when she was giving birth, she begged Rhea to save you both somehow. But Rhea...the method she had on hand could only save one of you..."

 **'Oh...oh no.'** Sothis covered her mouth again, **'I...Byleth I'm so sorry...'**

"So my mother and brother both died then?" Byleth asks, and she wonders how she should feel right now. She doesn't know what she feels. Nothing? Though that emptiness feels strangely more void and tingling than she's used to.

 **'You're in shock, Byleth.'** Sothis tells her sadly, **'And I cannot blame you. Oh, your poor mother. That poor infant. Is there anything more tragic?'**

"I..." Her father looked away again, "I thought so."

 _ **'What?'**_ Sothis snaps, her eyes glaring, **_'Thought so?_ How does one miss a detail such as that?'**

"Explain." Byleth calmly requested of her father. 

"I..." Her father's face twisted in a deep, deep, shame. "...I. Rhea...she said she could only save one of you. And she chose you. I remember...I remember holding his tiny boy in my hand. Goddess, he was so small Byleth. You both were. But unlike you, he wasn't breathing. He was so small he fit in one hand. I buried him, Byleth, right next to your mother. But...but he didn't...I guess it hadn't been too late to save him after all."

"What are you saying?" Byleth shook her head, "He was dead, how could he be saved?"

"Apparently, he wasn't so dead." Her father shook his head, a humorless chuckle leaving his lips. He leaned his forehead against his hand, openly stressed. "Turns out, Rhea stumbled on a way to save him. So not five minutes after I buried him she dug him up and saved him. Didn't even tell me about it. Said she didn't want to give me false hope in case it didn't work. But by then...well, by then I'd already left with you."

~~ By then I'd already left with you. ~~

**'A child he thought the lone survivor in his arms, and the child he thought dead unknowingly left behind,'** Sothis whispered from where she leaned against Byleth.

"So, then, my brother...my younger brother?" She questioned, looking to her father for confirmation, "Was kept here, raised by Rhea for 21 years...and now that we're here...Rhea told you about him?" That didn't make much sense. Didn't her father say not to trust Rhea, and now with this information, her father put his absolute trust in this? If that was the case, where was her brother? Was he here, if so who was he, what did he look like? Where was the proof for her brother being alive in Rheas' care?

 **'Less shouting it in your mind and more out loud,'** Sothis complained, though from the corner of her vision she saw how her hackles were raised, the impish girl floated freely, circling her father, a hint of something in her eyes.

"Then where is he?"Byleth asks, her father's eyes had never left her, she pushes forward, _"What's his name? What does he look like?"_

Her father swallows, and looks away, "Before you were born—"

"I **wasn't** asking about before I was born," she interrupts, more forceful than she would like, but she must insist. She does not understand why.

 **'Because you must know,'** Sothis hisses in her ear, she can feel the girl's arms, 'When did they become so solid?', steady her body, **' Because you already know him!'**

"Before you were born," her Father's voice grows, he has only spoken to her in such a tone once before, on the eve of her first kill, when she didn't so much as flinch at the bodies being torn by her blade, "Your Mother and I were expecting one child, so we only picked out one name, a name suitable for either gender.

"I named you Byleth when I thought you were the only one to survive. Rhea thought us both dead, so she named your brother in the only way she knew to honor your mother and me."

Byleth felt something in her freeze, and she put all the odd sightings together. The hood, the hiding of his face, the coloring of the boy's hair and eyes. His name. 

**'He called you sister once before,'** Sothis cooes, laying stop her.

"His name now," her father says, as the first curfew bell rings, "is Bylad.

"And he is the new student to be added to your class.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, some Dimileth interaction.  
> And more of Byleth's perspective, we're trying to keep her blase about most things but a hard worker, so don't expect any smiles, of course, that's going to change drastically in a few chapters so.
> 
> Also, Bylad reveals!!! And lot's of dialogue from Sothis. And there's going to be some tag changes in the future since we've reevaluated some stuff in this fic.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am trying.

Boots were not moving, and yet they dragged over cobblestone. The lad struggles, trying to escape the grip most tight against his clothing, but he is but a weak moth struggling against a swordsman most foul. "Please."

"It is for your own good." The Fell Knight denies the lad's plead, dragging the poor moth across the ground and towards the learning room wherein the Blue Purrs gather. "You have to attend class, Bylad. What else did you think being added to the class meant?"

"This shadow only paid attention to the tides wherein it-"

"He." Fell Knight interrupts, stopping his march forward to look back upon the lad, "None of this "it" nonsense."

The lad frowned, the hood tickling the meat cheeks. A strange unease takes form in the shadow's heart, an uncertainty. How strange. There's too much softness in the heart, and it makes the fear and the hurt worse. The lad wished it would flutter away from he, leave him be. "...the shadow only paid attention to the bits in which...he...was present for missions. This lad did not thinks he would be required to attend Blue Purrs."

"Students are typically expected to attend classes." The Fell Knight stated calmly. He continued to drag the lad across the stone, uncaring that the moth wished nothing more than to flutter away. 

"This lad has never been asked to attend lessons before." The moth slumps, boots knocking and jumping across the stone as he lay limp. It is truth, Lily Mother had no requirements for the lad he ever denied her. He went to lessons written on dead trees and attended them without question or asking. Then when he was done learning to read and write and math and dine any things he learned were because he had stumbled into the lessons and sat as an uninvited guest to the lesson.

"Well, now you have to." Fell Knight stated as he approached the open doors of the Blue Purr lessons.

nside, Butterfly Sister and the students of the Blue Purrs were gathered, all around in seaty seats. Sister stood above her seated purrs, dead tree in hand, voice dying slowly on her tongue as she beholds the Fell Knight and the poor moth within his most tight grasp.

"Forgive the tardiness, Bylad, apparently, didn't realize that being a student meant he is obligated to attend classes."

The lad squirms beneath his robes as many sights settle upon his vessel. The Butterfly Sister sets her sights upon him as well, her lips pulled into a firm frown. It takes much effort to keep the vessel from squirming, afraid, knowing that he has already failed she. Even as a shadow he has failed.

 **'PUpPeT?'** His Old Face whispers in a thousand dying voices, **'LoOk uP.'**

The lad does, and he sees the Clever Fox looking down on he with his clever grin. The lad feels the insides move with unease, not liking the clever grin. This lad...he...

 **'Scared, puppet?'** The thousand voices of his Old Face asks, 'Terrified to be seen? To be known.'

Yes, to be seen means to be known, and to be known means that when they leave, it will be willingly. That they will flock away from he in mass. All towards Sister. Because he is strange. He is "weird". His first love said so. And...

The lad is pulled to standing, and the lad finds himself grabbing onto the Fell Knight's arm to keep from falling. He does not let go as he looks up, glancing around the lesson room and all the sights on he. The Fell Knight does not push him away, letting him stay.

"-oals you have for the class?''He hears the Butterfly ask, and the lad realizes then that she had been speaking to he. But he had not heard her call, so he squeezes the Fell Knight's arm tighter, seeking comfort in the only companion that still cares for him.

For now.

"Bylad is a master of Reason and Faith magic." The Fell Knight answers the Butterfly for the lad, "I believe the Church has him officially ranked as an S class mage for both skills."

" _Holy_ \- He doesn't look it." The lad perceives the Clever Foxes words and finds himself huddling closer to the Knight's side.

"Oh." Is the simple word that part of Sister's lips and he dare not look up. "Then what are the goals for the class?"

 **'A quick study in magic is the puppet.'** His Old Face whispers, **'But, alas, of little use with a vessel so unaquipt.'**

"He is a poor weapons user." The Fell Knight states bluntly, brutally.

The lad tightens his hold on the knight, "This one only wishes to be useful."

The Butterfly makes scratches upon the dead paper, sealing it with ink. He wonders idly, how much he has disappointed the Butterfly. Her seeing orbs following his sentient tumor as the Fell Knight puts him in his seat. To his left, the lad sees that the Fell Knight has seated him beside the Sweet Holy Sister, and to his front, he sees the Ginger Bread Mage. 

Oh, how the Fell Knight has betrayed him so, for these two shall soon forget the lad as well.

"Okay, well..." the Butterfly said, "Mercedes if you could share your book with him for today, we'll continue our tactics lesson."

The lad shrinks, wishing deeply that once more he could become one with the shadows as Old Face could. The Sweet Holy Sister shares her dead trees, their corpses etched with the dark black water. He follows the sound of Butterfly Sister's voice. Trying to pay attention should she call on this vessel.

All the while, Old Face does not leave him be.

 **'The vessel would do well to pay heed to sister's words,'** Old Face whispers, the large Shadow looms over, like the tower on high. A nightmare for the Butterfly and he. The vessel shivers, feeling the gaze of the Sweet Holy Sister, the Butterfly and the Fell Knight. Too many eyes, this was not meant to be. He did not want to be so close when all would inevitably be taken away.

'Listen well, little vessel, make thyself useful, ere your time on this plane ends,'Old Face warned, before leaving he to his thoughts. This lad truly did wish he could return to the Shadows, or perhaps be among the purrs.  
...

A clang, and a ring, the lesson was over, perhaps the Blue Purrs had forgotten about he. The Purrs all rose as he did, and he stepped back to make his escape. Though was stopped by the Insecure Rouge.

"Hey there Bylad," the Rouge greeted with a smile of lies, the lad pulled down his hood and backed away on his walking talons. Where oh where had the Fell Knight gone, had he abandoned this vessel for the fair Butterfly already? His seeing orbs tell he that the Knight had, for the Knight spoke to the Butterfly across the room, her seeing orbs locked solely upon this sentient tumor, a frown pulling upon her face.

"Sylvain!" The Knight Keeper hissed, the Keepers seeing orbs gazed upon him, softening, and bowed,"We'd like to apologize, it has come to our attention that our words had been poorly chosen and had offended you when last we spoke."

The lad was confused, and spoke as such, "This lad does not understand, the Knight Keeper speaks in riddles, what offense has been put upon this sentient tumor?"

Silence, the Blue Purrs looked amongst each other, the Azure Moon's eyes narrowed. Oh, he had done an oops, but twas in his nature, especially in the Shadow of the Butterfly.

"She means when we met you," another voice spoke up, all orbs cast upon the Ardent Mouse, "You ran away so quickly we were worried we did something wrong, the Professor explained that you thought we were making fun of your nickname."

"Yes," the Azure Moon agreed, "We meant nothing by our comments, but nonetheless we have hurt your feelings, it was never our intention, and for that we are sorry."

Ah, so the Azure Moon was feeling the guilt again? Of course. Guilt was the Azure Moon's most oft felt feeling of the mind. The lad understands. This is not attention on himself. No, no, no. They must accept he into the fold and kill the guilt. He sees.

"This lad feels no snappity anger or flaming rage." The lad flapped his sleeves, a comforting happening to his sentient tumor. "There be no need for the guilts or the apologies. This lad picked a most silly name, yes."

"No, no. Bylad." The Gingerbread Mage shakes her dainty head, "That's your name, and it's not silly. We didn't mean to make you feel that way."

The lad shifts uneasily. He wishes to rest, to fade before he fools his blood pump into loving them. But he knows not how. So he searches for Old Face, but even the shadow had abandoned he in this hour of need, it's blurred form crawling elsewhere, **'Sothis?'**

"This moth is not the sads." The lad answers she, shaking his own head. 

He glances towards the shadow, looming away as another voice answers it, **'Who are you? How do you know me?'**

 **'The end.'** His Old Face answers she.

"So...Bylad." The Sweet Holy Sister claps her talons together, smiling her soft face smile, "You know professor Jeritza?"

"Ah, it is so." The lad answers, trying to pay attention to she, "This lad has known he since his own days of learning within the halls of knowledge. This lad happened upon the Fell Knight whilst running from the Pink Axe, whom wished to teach the lad to stick them with the pointy end of sharps, but the harp..."

The lad feels the words fail to weave from his lips as those eyes stare at he, ununderstanding. Their sights are most confused, and their smiles empty of understanding. Only the Ardent mouse seemed to understand, and then only some, and the lad remembers quickly why he is but a shadow.

"Try speaking plainly." The Soft Liar speaks with irritation, his pale hand reaching to flip his raven hair from his amber sights.

The lad feels the shame of bubble within the blood. He knows he is strange, he has known it since he was but an insect of fifteen winters and his first love had left he waiting by the docks all night whilst forgetting they agreed to meet, and then telling him such when she found him there come morn. It had been the first time he realized he was...not good strange. Not good not normal. Weird. And after letting his eyes leak in his room he searched the tides for someone who would not mind his weirdness, only to find nothing but Sister and her possible loves over and over and over and-

_Oh! A pretty rock~!_

In the lad’s palm had landed a pretty rock, splashed with lazy pink paint. How wonderful! How pink! The lad looks up, and he sees the Fell Knight standing there, “Bylad is incapable of speaking any other way. It’s an ailment that came with his...unique talents.”

An ailment, yes, a sickness that has set this lad's fate upon death. Soon, soon will he be free, he need not fear being forgotten. For in death all memory is held dear.

 **'You are the end as I am the beginning,** the other voice says.

"Where's the cure?" The Soft Liar asks, his voice losing patience. Poor poor Liar, soft is his heart for Ballads he cannot stand. Singing tall tales of honor and death, all the while his brothers' ghost follows after he ever watchful.

The lad turned his gaze away from the pretty rock when he heard the sound of hitting, what do his orbs spy but the Dead Phoenix waging war upon the Soft Liar.

"Felix, it's Bard Speak, you're Faerghan, you know this," the Dead Phoenix scolds, the lad wonders is this the tide of Knight Keeper and Ardent Mouse, or perchance the Bonne. Who is to say, this lad shall not live to see it.

"The hell do I care," the Soft Liar hisses, "Besides, no Faerghan Bard speaks like that." 

With that said the Soft Liar stomps away, no doubt unhappy to gaze upon he. He understands, the Butterfly is much kinder on the eyes and heart. It matters little to be thought so we'll of when nothing would come of it.

 **'Yes indeed,'** answers Old Face, the Shadow curls around his sentient vessel, and this lad panics, shaking, he did not think it Wouldst be so soon!! He has not yet said Farewells to the Lily Mother!!

"Bylad," the lad stills, she is speaking to him, and he must pay attention, he must, "are you alright?"

"Yes," he answers quickly, her empty gaze makes his blood pumper beat oh so rapidly, and water to flow upon his talons, "Yes this lad fairs well, thank you Butterfly Sis—Butterfly." Catching the words that flow from he, the lad must remember that the Sister is not to be burdened by their blood. 

Seeing orbs meet hers, there is another frown upon her face, and a flickering above him, did the Old Face make himself known. Away with the Old Face, away, this lad does not want thee here.

"Walk with me would you?" The Butterfly asks, towards the door, to the outside she floats, waiting for he. What shouldst this lad do, to follow would be to burden the Butterfly, but to ignore her would only earn her ire.

What to do, what to do?

"Shall I go with you?" The Fell Knight whispered.

The shadow wanted nothing more than for the Fell Knight to stay forever by his side, now and always. His companion, his champion, and dare he even dream friend? But, no, the Fell Knight hath chosen his fate oh so long ago, and this pitiful moth's call would not be what strayed he from the path of the Crimson Flower and he desire to destroy all his Lily Mother had built. Nor could the lad let his own walking hands tread the path of the Flower. No, this lad was always meant to be cannon fodder on the other side of the war to which the Fell Knight stood.

Even in the time where the Butterfly stood with the Crimson Flower.

 **'The one where she ends the pitiful moth's mother?'** The Old Face whispers in a thousand gleeful voices, **'The one where the little vessel was left to die alone as Little Cichol flees with his little daughter. And the little vessel finds thouself one face of hundreds of priests, lined up for the execution?'**

Yes.

"Stay." The lad gives up, gives in. He pats his flesh talons against the Fell Knight's arm, and he finally does something right. He gives up the Fell Knight so that his once-upon-a-time friend could reach for the golden and fleeting moments with his beloved sister wherein he can. "Be happy."

The Fell Knight is frowning. But then, he is always frowning. So the lad removes his hand and backs away, turning before this lad loses the courage to let his friend go. Yes, it's time to stop selfishly taking the Fell Knight's attention and let him turn it towards his true goals. 

The lad takes his first step following the Butterfly out the door, into the world of fear and shadowing. The lewd sunling turns it's attentions on him, kisses the skin with unwanted affection, but it casts a shadow behind Sister, and he takes his rightful place in it and feels safer.

The Butterfly doesn't speak to he, and he had not expected her to. She leads him away from the open doors of the Blue Purr room. The walk, leaving the class of purrs and knights and other things behind. He wishes the Knight to return to his side at once, wanting someone safe to hold onto whilst his sentient tumor buzzes with wrongs and his sights try to peer into the tides.

The Butterfly's coats flutter in the sunlight, and the lad shrinks further into the shadows. He wonders, for a time, wherein she is leading he. He could check the tides. It's so terribly tempting, a quick peek. But what if her walking talons stop their forward walking and he hits her with his vessel?

She leads him down the cobblestone, towards the hall of many cocoons, where the students rest. He recognizes the room she leads him. He knows it well. Tis her own canon. And the lad is fearful as she leads him to the door, where she pauses and turns to speak to he. Or so he thought. She watches he for a silent, unblinking moment, and the lad wishes he had the courage to check the tides in her presence. Then he realizes that, perhaps, she wishes him to be her servant an open the door for she. So he tentatively tests this, reaching out a reluctant hand to... 

But the Fell Knight steps out, having followed them, apparently, calling after her, "Don't let him open a door, he gets distracted by them and tries to teach them commerce."

The Butterfly Sister blinked thrice, and turned to the Fell Knight, lowering her head in thanks, as he had once seen many a Holy Knight do. 

"I...I wanted to invite you for some tea, Bylad,"the Butterfly begins, her seeing orbs lowered, voice steadily growing quite though no hint to her inner workings. Was she sads, or worse disappointed in the lad?

'The simmering water brown of leaves,'Old Face said, the tendrils of the shades body curled around the lads walking talons, making and unmaking their forms,'Let us partake in it, we have yet to give the fruit of the tree to Sothis.'

 **'I do not recall agreeing!'** The other voice shouted, right by his hearing holes, the lad flinched as did the Butterfly. They peered at one another's orbs, as the Butterfly opened her den and bid him follow. Follow he did, for he was her Shadow, after all, drawn to her light, to her existence, as all things were. Like a Moth to a flame, he could not deny her this, he could not.

"What kind of tea would you like?" The Butterfly asked, flitting about to all corners of her den, it was organized and messy, like his own abode. 

"This one...would like sweet brown water, that growns in the fields of summer," he replied. Unease faded away into brimming curiosity.

Peering around with his seeing orbs, he took note of the flowers in the vase, meaning good fortune and camaraderie, perhaps from the Blue Purrs? There were papers upon the writing slope, not as organized as the Caramel Fathers or the Willow Widow. The cocoon of death practice was covered by the warm blankies, but the feather sack remained unfluffed. There were sharp toothpicks and long stabbers in the corner, shiny they were, loath as he was to use them. And upon the windowsill an Ocarina.

"Bylad?" He did not heed the Butterflies words, merely picked up the Ocarina, and held it gently in his talons. Turning it around he felt the fine craft of the wood, the care of the paint, he blew into it and soothed at the sound.

"Do you play?" His talons, in fear, loosened their hold on the instrument of time, he feared the ire dropping it would no doubt bring, flinching away. However, ever the outlier of his sights, the Butterfly caught the instrument and held it out to he. And offering, a gift of her pity?

"Would you like to play it?" Asked she, the tiny, itty bitty spark of something to her seeing orbs that divine he could not. What was it?

 **'The Butterfly bids us to play,'** Old Face whispers, his hold kind and soft, a most uncomfortable feel upon this lad's sentient tumors pink, **'Let us entertain her, that we may hear Sisters lovely voice once more.'**

"Doth the Butterfly wishes for he to play a Ballad for she?"

"If you would like." The Butterfly answers he. It is a test, a terribly terrible test. She hides her desire so that he may not know so that he must prove what a knowledgeable shadow he had become. He must know her intentions. He must. So he thinks over the many tides he has seen of the Butterfly's fluttering and never once has she sang. Not as the Old Face's sister, and not as the new face.

It is for the best, the lad does not know how to play this instrument in truth. Though he loves it, and the sound of it's song against his hearing, he could not play it well himself. Twas not a sound he could harmony, and harmony his Old Face could not bare. But the disharmony of his notes makes many a listener froth with rage. Until the faces or red and the voices are shouting.

~~_Annoying._ ~~

The lad places down the po-tay-toe flute and backs away from it, "This lad cannot."

 **'The little vessel always denies this shadow.'** His Old Face whispers. He does not sound pink, or sads, or mads, or glads. The thousand voices do not sound of anything to this lad.

"Then why did you offer?" The Butterfly asks, her face the very memory of stone. The lad thinks he may have done a wrong, then realizes that he is always wrong.

"This shadow thought it was what the Butterfly wanted." The moth looks away from the butterfly and wishes he were better at this. He should be, for his sights are the flowing of tides, and yet all the lad ever seems to do is float facing away from the surface or drown.

Sister hums, taking her seat by the writing slope. The lad wonders if he should sit, too, but is not the time for waiting given before she commands him, "Sit."

He does, taking a spot on her cocoon for lack of a chair, and sinks into the soft pillowing beneath. Sister is trying to be kind, he knows, trying to make this new student a comfortable. To make this lad feel valued. But the Butterfly knew not her own worth. So he waited as she prepared the juice, knowing that every moment would make the inevitable hurt his soul all the worst should the unthinkable happen and his stabbiting should fail. 

When the Butterfly is done with her brewing of leaves and juices she slips he a cup. "Here, for you."

There is no sweet cakes, there is only sugar in a bowl, so he does not speak as he fills his cup. But, oh, there are now ground leaves to feed the juice, so he must finish his cup. The Butterfly watches he as he stirs the juice, and all is quiet for but fleeting river's time.

"So you're a mage?" The Butterfly asks.

"Ah, yes. This one can be of use if he can cast the net of arcane from these flesh talons." The lad wriggled his talons, "Or the plucking of the foul harp."

"Then why are you in class?" The Butterfly Sister folds her arms, a soft interrogation, "Weapons training? Tactics?Socialization..."

"When this lad was but an insect, he wished to be a Gremory." The lad confessed, stirring his tea with his gloved talon. "But then this lad learned only the females of his species may partake. So now this lad wishes only to be of uses wherever his walking hands may trend."

The Butterfly was silent, and the lad was fine with that, oh yes. Very okay with that, too distracted by the moaning and groaning of Old Face, who tittered this way and that, upset that the lad had not played for them all a Ballad.

 **'But Sister would sing for us again,'** Old Face moaned his Shadow talons curled around this lads branches, he did not like that, no no no. And squished himself further upon the cocoon, he must be smaller, only then will Old Face bid him farewell. Oh but Old Face never does, a part of his mind echoed, the voice traveling long hallways to reach him. So long as the lad is alive, Old Face shall follow him always. 

_'We must hasten to our tides end,'_ thinks he.

"I don't know...where to put you just yet," the Butterfly spoke, her hands yet folded, "So for now, I will see to your training personally and on missions you will remain by my side at all times."

Oh, oh joy betides the lad, for he can hasten to the end of his tide. For the Butterfly he will defend to his death, assured for she will always accrue enemies. The lad forces a smile upon his face, he has never given one before.

"This lad thanks the Butterfly for her kindness, a smile from he will suffice?"

A beat passes, another and there is a strange huff that passes her speaking reds, saw he the twinkle of laughter. Oh, woe is he for he has embarrassed himself most royally with his—his weird smile and unnatural way of speaking.

"Forgive this lad, overstepped his bounds he has, and embarrassed this one's status most assuredly," Bylad said as he held the cup, the sweet leaf water forgotten, soured now the mood is. What a failure he is.

The Butterfly Sister laid her talons upon his, soft is her touch as she holds his talons, he cannot help but lean into it.

"You've done nothing wrong, your smile is adorable," the Butterfly says, her mask and orbs betraying nothing, spare the small twinkle and tittering of the other voice.

'What a horrifically adorable smile!!'the other voice said, with such cheer and merriment, Old Face for once cooed instead of crowed.

"Whenever I try to smile it is much the same," the Butterfly admits to he, lies!! The Butterfly is radiant, and all flock to her and her light.

"See?" The Butterfly attempts to pull muscles into merry, and it is much more pretty than his own. How dare the Butterfly think he is fairer than she!!

"The Professor hath lied to this lad, her happies are much prettier than this lads!!"

A huff turned to two, before there was a small twittering, oh...oh no—Laughter!! The Giggles, given them to her he has!! No no—Twas meant for the Azure Moon.

"Thank you, Bylad. That is very kind of you," her sentient tumors orbs and speaking hole return as they were before. Blank. Perhaps the tide is not yet lost. The Azure Moon will have his triumph yet.

"Tis true,"argued he, finishing the brown leaf water, loathe as he is to leave her light, he must. He is not meant to be. He must leave.

'So soon?'Old Face moaned, his cry nearly gave this lad pause, but no he must go, he is not meant to be, not anymore.

Yes, this lad needs to leave. He needs to flee with his walking hands and away whilst he ha the Butterfly's good graces are had. The moth resists the urge to toss the water, sipping the leaf juice until the tongue has licked it all gone. He places the cup down and pushes it away with his talons. 

He parts the lips to wag the tongue and weave the words to excuse he, but the Butterfly weaves faster, speaking her words before he, "Tell me, Bylad, what are your strengths besides the arcane?"

The moth pauses, his lips set into a downward turn on his frowny face, "This lad...can dance?"

 **'Oh! I would love to dance!** ' The other voice calls.

The Butterfly's lips twitch for the briefest of moments, "Do you? Is that one of your hobbies?"

"No." The lad tilts he noggin, "The lad is weak in constitution, so he must dodge the sharps. So the lad learned to dance, and now he is unhit so long as his walking talons move."

"That's something we could work on." Sister determines, her peppers peeping at he with blank stares, "Unless you want to...keep working on your already S Ranked magic."

"Is there a rank higher?" The lad perks, interested, leaning on the table, "Because this lad will trend where the Butterfly walks, as she has asked of he."

 **'Little vessel wishes to touch arts unseen my flesh and bone.'** The Old Face crones, **'Tempt the blood.'**

 **'Tell me, if you are the end, then you must know me, yes?'** The other voice asks of the Old Face and he. **'Do you know that which I do not?'**

 **'This shadow does. He has known since the beginning, and he knows how Sister Sothis came to be here.'** The Old Face answers.

The lad lets his sights flicker to the door, where Fell Knight waited for he for reasons the lad cannot fathom with his thoughts. Perhaps it is time to flee, but he finds such a task impossible with the way he is expertly held hostage by words. "This moth knows of what is to come..."

"A seer, yes? I've been informed by...Lady Rhea." The Butterfly speaks, nodding her knowing and looking upon he, "...has it...been a burden on you?"

A burden? The lad has never thought of it. To see into the tides is something he had known since he was but a babe. He has never known the not seeing, and to he, it is as of breathing, something obvious and unthinkingly a part of himself. "This lad does not the understanding have. The tides have always been there...they are...is this a strange?"

"No, no." Sister shakes her head, her lips tilted downward, "I just wish to know it knowledge of the future has caused you any pain. Perhaps emotional?"

 **'All knowledge is pain.'** The Old Face tells though the lad knows not if it is to he or the other voice. **'And the burden of knowing what may pass destroys the very soul more surely than any. For all the sad songs of the many tongues, the worst are the knowings of could have beens.'**

"This one will not burden the Butterfly the field of battles. " The lad answers, touching the crown of his flesh with his talons, "This one is only distracted by the tides if too many rivers turn at once. He has learned not to peer in constant some time ago. No distractions or lost gettings!"

The Butterfly does not say anything, though suddenly it appears to the lad, that her seeing orbs are saying many things. Though he can not with his hearing holes give ear to her thinking thoughts, he does bend ear to the other voice, no doubt the Old Faces Sister.

 **'So, he does feel pain when he peers into the future, not unlike your shortness of breath when we use Divine Pulse,'** the Old Faces Sister said. He can feel the barest touching of ghostly talons upon his flesh. It is a kind touch, like Lily Mother's.

"Then you must promise not to look when we're in active battle," the Butterfly Sister orders, in her tongue there is worry, though he knows in his fool blood pumper that this is his own delusion taking form, "You may look before, but not after...Promise?"

The lad blinkity-blinks his seeing orbs, and extends the tiny talon as the Midnight Watcher had done with Staltwart Caretaker many times before. The Butterfly looked surprised and slowly extends her own tiny talon. The talons curled around, by promise is the lads sights now bound. He will not peer into the many tides. Only when they lead to the Butterflys happy end and when this lads tide...dies.

"The tiny talon promise has been sealed, till death or impalement befall the other!!" 

"I...don't think that how it goes but, alright."

 **'Tis a promise Little Vessel shall forever keep.'** Old Face crowed, his thousand dead voices playing the mind, **'Woven like the strands of ashes over the embers of time. What we weave is not so easily forgotten, Flippant Butterfly.'**

 **'Woven things matter greatly to you, then?'** The Other speaks, **'Then it is no surprise he takes this child's promise so seriously.'**

 **'A child's promise and a child's stories come from things far more binding.'** The Old Face imparts his wisdom. **'Speak not of children's promises so dismissively, sister, for what is woven is forever to this one. This Little Vessel will pay the toll before the promise is broken.'**

Ah, yes, the tide shall end soon enough. The promise shall be easy kept. All he need do was use his sight before battle, then after, just not during. Simple. There would only be six or so missions before the woven promise is made moot. This lad will not fail.

 **'The Little Vessel underestimates the difficulty of his own promise.'** The Old Face coos, **'If the Divine Pulse is as the Butterfly's beat of her heart, than the Turning of Tides is as the flow of the Little Vessel's veins. It is the constant flow within. The lad would go mad if not for this shadow standing between he and the oceans of time.'**

**'And you can see it all at once?'**

**'This shadow sees all futures, at all times, always.'** The Old Face answers, **'The lad must see in limits, for his mortal flesh and bone are too small for all of time. Tis why this one has never crafted a true vessel. The Little Vessel is this one's first flesh body.'**

 **'But that's not your body.'** The Other answers.

 **'It could be, if this shadow so desired to take it.'** The Old Face reveals, **'Tis the toll this lad pays. He is alive because he hosts this shadow, tis the toll this one payed to walk the world of the living. And the toll of the shadow is to limit his power to but a fraction so long as the lad exists.'**

 **'So he's in danger with you.'** The Other sounds disgusted.

 **'This one neither longs for life, nor fears fading existence.'** The Old Face claims, **'Shadow, Little Vessel, both? Neither? The Little Vessel is in no danger from this shadow, for the shadow is the only certainty to never betray him across any tide of time.'**

 **'That is a lonely existence,'** the other voice whispers, **'Perhaps we can amend that.'**

How sad, how dour, the Other Voice would soon learn there was no stopping the coming of the great tide. It would come, and then all would be well in this world.

 **'Perhaps, perhaps not, we two shall see, the Beginning and the End, on the eve of burning Chapel White,** 'Old Face cooed, rapscallion Old Face, the Shadow only crows and makes jest of this lad, yet how it coos so tenderly for the Other Voice, **"When cause for sorrow shall descend upon thy vessel of flesh."**

Once upon a time, there would cause for sorrow, for the Caramel Father would give his life, that the Butterfly would yet live. Now, now the lad would give up his tide, so that the Butterfly would know no sorrow.

"This lad aways now!" Bylad announces, the Sister-Daughter and Willo-Widow told he it is most impolite to leave without announcement.

"Alright then, I'll see you at class," the Butterfly nods, taking from he the cup, and bidding he farewell at the wood portal. She opens it, talons curl 'round the gold orb, and cast open the wood portal. Outside, in the light stand the Sweet Holy Sister and the Fell Knight.

Their gazes upon he, the Fell Knight says,"Shall we head to lunch?"

"Indeed, the lad hungers for the sweets of ice and cold!" 

The tide will soon reach its final shore, for now entertains he, the staying of the Fell Knights friendship. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Pending notes, I'll...come back to this noting when my brain settles down]


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really am trying

Hilda was bored. Like so bored.  _ Like, soooo bored _ . Of course, she wasn't anymore, now that she knew Claude was telling the truth.

Claude wasn't around to make things fun, something about a hooded guy that had an entire army of cats following him. Pssh, he could've just said he didn't feel like doing anything, so she'd just walked around looking for some shade to avoid the sun. Instead, what she saw was a hooded guy, with an Armada of cats sleeping around him beneath the tree.

She would've dropped her jaw if she wasn't already approaching the guy, well boy now that she got a good look at him beneath his hood. Those cats parted for her like when Holst placed a sword through a small waterfall. 

He wasn't hard on the eyes either, soft long eyelashes, eyelashes she wished she had, short cobalt blue hair framed his face in uneven bangs. His lips looked rosy red. How unfair!! For him to look so good!! She was curious as to what color those eyes were, did they suit him like the rest of him?

Soon enough, his eyes fluttered, actually fluttered open, and his gaze landed on her, first in surprise and then in a softness she'd oh ever seen on Claude's face. She would've said Holst, but Holst never looked at her that way.

" _ Hilda-Friend _ ," the boy breathed, as she moved out of his personal space, she didn't know the guy, sure she was curious but the way he said it...it felt like he'd known her much longer than she'd ever know him. 

"Uh, Hi, we haven't met before—" Hilda put on her best smile, she needed to make a getaway, as innocent as he looked, he could be a creeper.

"This lad knows Friend-Hilda, his sights have seen her strength, a rivaling strength to the Azure Moon, and her kindness!"

Okay, so his compliments were very flattering.

"Well." Hilda clicked her tongue, landing her hands on her hips and deciding to gift the stranger with a sweet smile, "Aren't you just a sweetheart?"

The guy had the most bashful look she'd ever seen, no small feat considering some of the people she shared a class with. Or even the people she shared the school year in general with. He cheeks dusted a bit with pink, and he looked away from her, playing with his hands. "No, this one's blood pump is not the sweets. Friend Hilda is the sweets."

Okay, he was a little weird, but Hilda wasn't someone to turn away from someone that clearly wanted to compliment her. So she looked down, trying to find herself a spot among the sea of cats, who all fought to curl closer to the guy. Like a giant, fluffy, living blankety of warm fur. She pushes some of them aside, plumping herself on a nice, grassy, spot next to him and leaning back against the tree. Ohhhh, and it's a nice spot too. Nice and shady. She leans back, adjusting until she's nice and comfy, "Keep complimenting me, I like that."

"Friend Hilda is stronger than the rolling thunder and brighter than the flashing lightning." The guy obliged her wish without a moment's hesitation. And wasn't that just the nicest thing? 

"Thanks." Hilda settles herself.

"Has Friend Hilda come here for the Napping Tree?" The guy asks, picking up one of his cats and patting the tree with its little paw, "This tree likes the purrs best, so it provides for them the best of resting."

"This is a nice and shady napping spot." Hilda agrees with him. Oh, the guy is clearly a complete weirdo, and she should probably leave before he gets weird and ruins it. But, hey, he's being sweet right now. So she didn't bother leaving yet. 

"The purrs hold great love in their tiny blood pumps for this tree and so does this lad." He leans against the tree patting it with that cat's paw again, "Pat pat, good tree."

"So you like cats and trees then?" Hilda crosses her ankles, eyeing the guy. He's pretty cute looking all bashful and happy like that. She kind of wants to pinch his little cheeks, but that'd be weird considering they just met and she doesn't even know his name. But he knows her apparently.

She hopes he's not a stalker, that would ruin his pretty face really fast. "So, you know my name...who are you and how do you know who I am?"

The boy freezes, his face falling. He drops the cat, who looked very offended at being dropped, but the boy didn't pay attention, merely bringing his hands together and twirling his thumbs together to circle one another nervously, "This...ah...this one is apologies. He...the tides...he did not mean to make she unease of thoughts. Ah, this one is...Bylad..."

Huh, Bylad. Sounded more like a nickname than an actual name, but then again, her Dad named her something old Fashioned as Hilda, in honor of one of her ancestors, Hildegard. Talk about boring, she felt for the boy. Poor thing.

"Well, Bylad," she tested the name, the boy pulling his hood down further, "It's kinda creepy that you know all about me and I know next to nothing about you," she poked his chest, which made him squeak something cute, " _So spill!_ "

The boy cowered a bit like he was hiding before she spoke, "This lad has lived in these Halls of White with Lily Mother for two tens and one year come the Moon of the Equine Arrow, he likes the Purrs" he pets the cats, "Naps 'neath boughs of green, brown leaf water, and—pink!!"

Okay, so he spoke really weird, but considering how he liked cats and grew up in the Monastery, she hoped she had interpreted that correctly, he reminded Hilda of Marianne. Her best friend—she'd kick herself in the foot later for thinking badly of him. 

"Oh! Is that how you know me? My pink hair?" Hilda asked, her pink hair was so bright it would catch others' attention, not that she minded, that meant less work for her to gain it in the first place.

"Nay," the boy—Bylad admitted, she caught sight of his eyes, so fond of her and the pink that decorated his cheeks," this lad's sights have seen Friend-Hildas coming for many a Moon. He had hoped to glimpse at her beauty at least once before his end."

Oh no, he talked like Marianne too, she wondered if she introduced them to one another if they'd get along, maybe even convince each other out of the spiral of self-deprecation. 

"I see, so I'm the most beautiful thing you've seen?"Hilda said, wanting to change the rather...negative subject by shifting his focus. She noticed some of the cats climbing all over her to get closer to Bylad. Wow, he really did have a veritable army.

"Alas, this lad cannot lies speak, forgive him Friend-Hilda, though you are one of this lad's great beauties there is one which you cannot hope to compete," he said sadly. 

"Who?" As much as she didn't like to work this sounded interesting, was it Dorothea? Petra? Maybe even Ingrid, she saw that Galatea girls guns, and damn was Ingrid packing.

"The Butterfly Sister, though it is no fault of your own, graced by a higher power is she," Bylad explained. So he had a sister, or maybe it was a Nun. You addressed the Nuns as Sister right?

Either way, he was clearly biased towards this one sister, so it totally didn't count and she's still the most beautiful of them all. Unless the guy was grosser than she thought, in which case she doesn't feel bad about thinking he was creepy "Oh, so your sister is a great beauty then?"

"It is so." The boy nods, moving to grab another cat and hold it to his chest, petting it gently. He flushed a pretty color, all earnest and genuine and eager, "Though Friend Hilda is the greatest beauty after."

Well, she could take the second most beautiful if he was going to be all sweet like that. Yeah, she doesn't think this is a creeper situation. He was just a cutie with a crush that clearly loved his sister a whole lot. It was too bad she was sorta taken, but it was flattering that he had a little crush on her.

"Well thank you." She coos at him sweetly at him, patting his cheek and making him blush deeper. She should probably lay off before she comes off as leading the poor guy on. But she thinks this is okay. He's a cutie, and she doesn't think she'd mind being friends with him, "You're not so bad yourself."

The boy's eyes flicker away from her, "This one is...there."

Oh, oh no, he _is_ a lot like Marianne. Guy has some self-image issues. That's a little sad. Everyone has something attractive about em, even if it's not the face. But this guy is a cutie, he shouldn't think like that. "Awww, don't think like that, you're a little cutie."

Now his whole face is red, and his hands fiddle with his hood, which he throws over his head and tries to hide the growing blush, but it doesn't work. She can see. She knows. He cannot hide from her. "This face is **_not_**."

" _Daaww_ , you're shy." She pokes him in the arm, making the boy squirm and pull the hood all the way over his face. "That's adorable."

"Hilda is adorable!" The boy flaps his sleeve, clearly trying to defend himself from her compliments by...complimenting her more. She doesn't see the logic behind it, but hey, more compliments. She isn't going to complain.

"We're both adorable." She determines with a nod because that's the most obvious and easiest to reach conclusion.

In turn, Bylad just curls into himself further and rejects her compliment, " _Nay_ , this lad cannot be."

Well then, time to bring out the big guns, like with Marianne, she asks pointedly, "Are you calling me a liar?"

Bylad let's go of his hood, and curls up with one of the cats, a brown cat with the most brilliant green eyes, and slightly messy fur. She bit back a giggle, it looked so much like Claude. 

"Friend-Hilda does tell lies yes, but that is to avoid the fatigue of her sentient tumor," Bylad said looking away. She made a noise of shock, turning up her nose, and crossing her arms. 

"Wow, compliment a girl and then drag her," she feigned annoyance, what kind of adorable response would she get from him now. She wasn't expecting his mood to damped so much from a little jibing.

"Forgive this lad, Friend-Hilda, he does not deserve to look upon or speak to thee," he curled up away from her, "He understands if you choose to think he is weird as the Lady of the year before had told him."

Okay, first of all, he definitely needed the Marianne treatment, which meant lots of love and compliments, Hilda is definitely going to wrangle Claude into helping her. And second, what a bitch, if you think someone's weird you don't just say it to their face like that. That girl was lucky to have graduated, Hilda tends to get attached to new friends quickly, and this boy was clearly a minion.

"What a bitch," Hilda said, petting the brown cat that was laying on top of Bylad, the cute thing purring up a storm, "I mean honestly, you don't just call someone weird for talking funny."

"She had told this lad to wait at the fishy pond bridge for a courtship in the night, alas through the night till the cusp of dawn did he wait, yet the Lady did not come," Bylad said is like he deserved it, okay now Hilda was really mad, even Sylvain came out to let his midnight dates know he wasn't up for it. And Sylvain's never stood up a girl, no matter how much they deserved it. 

"And then...?" She urged, taking back her hand, she was clenching it so tight she was afraid she'd hurt the poor cat.

"When the lad saw she next, proclaimed she that this lad was _'weird'_ , tis most true," Bylad finished, turning now to lay in his back.

" _Bullshit,_ " Hilda bit out, ooooh this made her so mad, she was gonna find out who this girl was and send her a **'strongly'** worded letter to her ball or something.

Bylad squirms and it breaks Hida's fragile and delicate little heart that the poor guy's self-esteem was just so low he couldn't even take a compliment, much less someone defending him. Everyone deserved to love themselves, even jerks like Lorenz, or assholes like Lorenz's dad. Yourself should be the person that loves you no matter what at least. And it makes her sad to see there are people out there like Marianne and this guy that just couldn't seem to find the will to love themselves as much as they deserved.

Hilda doesn't like being sad, that's too much work.

"Not you sweetie." She makes sure she knows she doesn't mean him, "Not you. That _girl_ , what she did to you was pure bullshit."

"But..." He looks away, his eyes turning toward his cat, whom she now proclaimed to be Claude Jr. His fingers curled against the brown fur, and his shoulders sort of just sagged sadly, "...she was a truth weaver. This lad cannot speak in words unwoven in weaving patterns that must be untangled by thoughts. And his sights stare _too_ far, and he acts oddly, and he oft forgets others do not know he as _he_ knows them."

Somewhere midway through the explanation for why she shouldn't like him, Hilda gave up listening and just waited for him to stop talking before stating what she's already determined, "So you're a little different. That's not bad. We're all kinda different."

"But this one is weird different." The boy explains, because he's just that determined to not like himself, and frankly, she's already tired of it. 

"So? Everyone's a little weird." Hilda counts off on her fingers, "My brother Holst has terrible taste in ladies. Claude has a lot of weird habits that don't make sense. Leonie is obsessed with some guy she knew for a week. Ignatz has that dumb haircut. Raphael is obsessed with muscles. Lorenz  _ exists _ . That's all weird, and I like all of them."

Bylad sort of looks at her, like he's not quite able to comprehend what she's saying.

"Look, you were never the problem." Hilda sits up, because she doesn't like effort, but she doesn't like people tearing others down all maliciously more, "What that girl did to you? That was wrong. She shouldn't have done that. And it isn't your fault that she was a bitch to you. That's her fault. She didn't have to be a bitch, but she was. She chose to do that. In fact, you're nicer than she deserved for waiting like that and giving her the benefit of the doubt."

He holds up Claude Jr. to his face and mutters a _'Thank You'_ , and while Hilda is by no means a hard worker, this, teaching this guy how to self-love? Yeah, she'd be willing to put in some work, maybe she'd wrangle Claude into doing most of it for her. Or maybe even Claude Jr.

"Wow Hilda, that's the most work I think I've ever seen your brain do," said a voice, looking up, because that's where he usually spoke from, Claude hung upside down, his trademark grin on his face. Bylad squeaks, a really cute sound too, and all the cats around him have their hackles raised. Hissing at Claude, hunching down and covering Bylad.

"Claude what did you do?!" Hilda asked because he must have done something to warrant a reaction like this from these cats, who honestly should've hissed at her for pushing them around.

"I didn't _do_ anything," Claude replied, adjusting himself in the tree,"They just don't like me, which is racist by the way."

"How is it racist?"

" _Uhhhhhh—_ So about the girl who stood you up and then called you a weirdo,"Claude was trying to change the subject, but she'd let it slide, for now, she wanted to know the girls' name anyway.

"Right, sweetie what's her name?" Hilda asked, a smile on her face, it's going a little far, but she likes the guy, and really what's ruining a life for a few months, happens in Leicester all the time.

"This Lad knows not whence she has gone, for the Lady disappeared ere her day of graduation and has not been seen since, "Bylad replied, his hands running through Claude Jr.'s fur.

"Sounds hinky," Hilda and Claude say at the same time. Really, if a student had disappeared at Garreg Mach last year the family of said student would've made a lot more noise. And really, Hilda loves some good drama, so if this did happen why hasn't she heard about it.

"Probably ran off." Claude determined, leaning against the tree and crossing his ankles. "Probably got a job as a clown or something."

Bylad looked away, curling further beneath his armor of fluffy cats, Claude Jr leading the charge in eyeballing Claude, the cat brushing its furry little body against Bylad's chest and scenting him. The guy looked pretty uncomfortable, "...this one would ask that no ill be spoken of her."

Well fuck. It was official, the bitch didn't deserve this guy. She was going to find him a nicer girl somewhere, one that would appreciate what a loyal sweetheart this guy is. Because that girl sure as Nemesis balls didn't deserve him.

But Claude frowned, pushing himself away from the tree, "Alright, let's just forget all about her then. There's plenty in this world to talk about that isn't her."

Then he got a dangerous glint in his eye, one that he usually gets when he's about to do something to annoy Lorenz, or when he finds out something really important that someone out there probably would've paid good money for him not to know, "Like, for example, have you ever been to the Holy Tombs?"

What? What kind of question was that? She knows that Claude likes to dig for information, but that's a weird thing to ask. Why would a student have access to one of the most sacred and holy places in Fodlan?

Bylad hisses, like one of his cats. And the furry little beasts take note of their friend's attitude and charge for Claude, their little claws sinking into his ankles as he yelps in pain. Bylad very quickly changes expression, going from guarded and warry to horrified. He jerks Claude Jr back and way, holding the cat in the air as it hisses and scratches at Claude,

"No, no, no, no." Bylad pulls back whole entire cats by the scruff of their necks, pulling them back and tossing them away, only for them to land on their feet and start lining up, " ** _Bad purrs!_ **Very _bad_ purrs! This mad lad did not...he did not mean..."

And then he looked so crushingly guilty that it honestly hurt to look at. His face twisted, and he forced the cats way, "This pitiful moth is many apologies. He did not...the purrs should not have…

She wants to laugh, as mean as it is, she wants to laugh, like really really badly. As she watches Claude back up and hide, though he'll deny it, he's holding his ankle and smiling through the pain.

"Those are some protective cats," Claude commented, Hilda snorted.

"Well, what did you think was going to happen," Hilda said, curling her finger around a pigtail, "You more or less invaded his personal space like a gremlin, of course, Claude Jr. was gonna get mad."

"In my defense—Wait, _Claude Jr.?_ " 

"Friend-Hilda speaks of this Purr," Bylad said and held up the cat who led the rest in their attack on Claude. Claude stared at the cat and it stared back, this continued on for several moments.

Until, Claude dramatically gasped, and stood up, pointing a shaky finger at the cat, "Betrayal!! Betrayed by my own name!!"

The cat seemed to understand to some extent, because it looked to be somewhat smug, meowing as its tail swished back and forth.

"Only you would earn the ire of a cat Lord, "Hilda shook her head, the cats seemed to have calmed down, as they began crawling into her lap again.

"Hey, what can I say, I'm irresistible," Claude grinned, laying his chin on her shoulder. The cats on her lap hissed at him and he backed away, "I'm beginning to miss my tree."

"The boughs of green would appreciate no weight upon them, "Bylad says absently, and she snorts because Claude's scandalized face is funny compared with the fact that Bylad cannot, supposedly lie. And given how open and forthright he's been, she believes it.

"Are you calling me fat?" Claude asked, false hurt evident in his voice, and as funny as that was, she's pretty sure Bylad would take it seriously.

Just like she'd predicted, Bylad's eyes went wide and wet and goddess if he wasn't just the most adorable thing ever. "No! This one did not mean such a thing."

Claude Jr, who seems to have taken his place as the newly reigning king of the cats, level the human Claude with such a flat, unimpressed, look that Hilda is sure for a moment that the cat has some kind of superhuman intelligence. Not only that, but even Lorenz could have taken note.

"Man." Claude scratches the back of his head, grimacing, "You...ah...don't get teased a lot by your buddies, do you?"

The boy frowns, clearly not understanding. He tilts his head, and he has this adorable little pout on his lip, "This one is appropriately mocked as needed."

"Bylad, no." Claude frowned, a spark of irritation flashing for the briefest of moments before fading away into one of those charming smiles. One of those smiles that could charm a snake. "Not like bullying. Like buddies, right? We're friends now."

That should have been a good thing, but Bylad actually looked sick at the idea of being friends. He hugged his cats closer, shaking his head, "No."

"No?" Claude quirked a brow, that smile still in place, "And why not?"

"This lad is.. _.irrelevant_." Bylad tried to explain, his fingers curling in Claude Jr's fur. "Verdant Wind and Friend Hilda, this one will warn, affection of the blood pump for he is fleeting as vapor in the wind. To attempt to do so would be as trying to grasp mist. Unnecessary and ill bearing fruit."

Goddess, who the heck hurt this kid? Other than that bitch. Hilda needs to have words. Even Marianne didn't try to outright stop them from being friends.

"Wow, okay, that's a little harsh." Claude gives a laugh that's totally covering up his own awkwardness, "Are we that bad?"

"No." Bylad shakes his head, "A moth is just not but ugly flutterings when beheld next to the butterfly."

"Okay, I don't know what that means, but we're not going to get tired of you and ditch you." Claude scratches the back of his head, "That's kind of an asshole thing to do. Not everyone is like that girl you know. It's not going to happen with everyone."

The boy covered in cats stared at Claude with something kind of like sad acceptance, like he knew something Claude didn't, something that ripped the hope right out of him. Something that took the fight out of him, "The mist fades in every tide, and this lad has borne witness. Alas, a breeze is never meant to stay where it can be grasped, and a shadow cannot be held."

Hilda didn't know what to say to that, but she did know what to say to that calculative look in Claudes' eye. Slapping his shoulder, she gave him a look, to which he responded with a wink. Honestly, Claude was going to be the death of her.

"Well, good thing you're not a Shadow then right," Claude says, using Hilda's hand, because frankly if Claude poked Bylad, she was pretty sure the cats would actually kill him this time, and she wouldn't stop it either, "Would you look at that, you're flesh and bones like Hilda and me, not very Shadow-like in my opinion."

Bylad hugged Claude Jr. closer, the cat in question purring up a storm, "The Verdant Wind knows not what it speaks of, though this lad is quite thankful for his assurances, false though they be."

Hmm, that didn't sit right with Hilda.

"Alright then, if you won't believe me, I'll have to convince you some other way, when are you free tomorrow?" Typical Claude, hopefully, he'd remember to pack the basket this time. At that moment the bell rang, signaling that it was time to return to afternoon classes. Bylad stood up abruptly, startling the cats around him.

"Many apologies kind purrs, but this lad cannot be late, else the Fell-Knight will surely chase after he," Bylad quickly started walking away. Claude and Hilda stared after him a moment before Claude gave her a look.

"I'm not running, "Hilda said, crossing her arms, she was going to walk, thank you very much.

"Even if I carry you?" Claude offered, knowing she very well couldn't pass up the chance of getting carried.

". _..Fine_ ," Hilda sighed, holding out her arms to be lifted off the ground. Claude tossed her over his shoulder sadly and ran after Bylad, and his army of cats.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very short chapter...considering this sudden return but, getting used to things again it's been a while, not to mention CO-Author is taking a break from the fandom to focus on some other fics so if you like Yu-gi-oh V-Rains go check out BBell's fics.
> 
> But in other news I'd like to welcome you all to our server. Follow this link:
> 
> https://msbluebell.tumblr.com/
> 
> And click on the discord link pinned at the top, it'll be a little overwhelming at first, but we always welcome new people and you may even be able to catch a few sneak peaks on some WIPs we have yet to post. Everything from the start is pinned on each channel and new one's are always being created. Everyone is welcome, including non BL fans, so feel free to come in!! Now without further ado I give you
> 
> -Naz

Ashe hoped that Bylad had gotten used to class, he seemed so quiet and shy. Not that different from how Ashe was in the beginning, and Ashe liked to think they were kindred spirits in that regard. Not to mention that it appeared he was the only one that understood Bylad.

Poor kidwait wasn't he older than Ashe? But Bylad had never really told the class his birthday, so was he the same age. Shaking his head to clear it of such thoughts, Ashe focused on the clock, most of his classmates had made it to class after the first bell, the Prince, Dedue, and Ingrid being amongst them. He hoped no one would be marked late, they'd have to run laps then. But that was when Professor Jeritza was still teaching...or supervising?

Either way, the second bell would ring soon. And he hoped Bylad would make it on time. Judging by the cats that poured in as a prelude to Bylad's arrival, he'd made it to class on time. 

With... _the Golden Deer leader and Hilda von Goneril behind him?!_

"I'm offended." The Golden Deer leader state, carrying Hilda von Goneril in his arms bridal style, the girl looking rather content leaning lazily over his arms. "If I knew you were a student I'd have tried to get you into Golden Deer a long time ago."

"You two just met." Hilda remarks lazily, twirling a strand of pink hair around her finger.

"You don't know when we met," Claude tells her, stepping over a wave of cats that Bylad was desperately trying to herd out of the classroom. His green eyes roamed over the room, and Ashe felt it when they rolled over him. it was...intense like the other boy could see into his very soul and dig out all his secrets. 

"Oh, Claude, to what do we owe the pleasure." Prince Dimitri stood up, smiling pleasantly, "I do hope you're not scheming again."

"Oh, just a little _recruitment_." Claude winked at him before turning back to Bylad, who was trying to hide behind his hood and squirm away from the two Golden Deer. But the other house head just winked at him, giving a very charming smile, "What do you say? You, me, Hilda. We could be great together."

Bylad grabbed up one of his cats, holding it out at arm's length, " **Purrs!** Protect this lad!"

But it wasn't one of the cats that protected Bylad, but rather Dimitri, who was a Blue Lion, so it fits. He stepped forward, looking aghast, "Claude, are you really trying to recruit from my class right in front of me?"

"Think about it Bylad." Claude winked, not even acknowledging Dimitri's words as he backed out of the class, "Golden Deer, we're right next door."

"You are." Dimitri walked over to Bylad, placing a hand on the boy's back and leading him to his seat next to Mercedes, the prince sending the duke a glare the whole time, "Quit harassing the boy and go back to class before you're late!"

" _Gooooollllldddeeeennnn Deeeerrrrr._ " Claude tried to sound like a ghost as he backed out the door and out of sight. Bylad's many cats surrounded the room, glaring after him.

Ashe had to hand it to the Duke, he was certainly audacious, in the capacity that he would try to recruit a fellow classmate right in front of their House Leader. Claude should count himself lucky, had the Professor seen him attempt such a thing, the result could surely be different.

Speaking of the Professor, she walked in at that very moment, a pack of dogs at her feet, spilling into the classroom and mingling with the cats. Her blank gaze facing the direction of the Golden Deer classroom.

"What's this about recruiting students?" She asks, sometimes Ashe forgets how this responsibility was more or less shoved at her, and how much she doesn't know. It made sense that recruiting students from other houses would be lost on her.

"Ah, well, typically if a student would like to transfer houses for whatever reason they'll be allowed to, permitted they've filled out the proper forms and received permission from the Professor of said House," the Prince explains, it was stuff like this that kept Ashe going, the Prince was so responsible and... **chivalrous!!** Just like the Knights in the stories.

"I see," the Professor responds, her gaze drawn to Bylad's form, there's a glint in her eye that Ashe can't tell whether it means trouble or not. Nonetheless, the Professor makes her way to the front of the class to begin the day's lesson.

"Right then, today we'll be covering Cavalry Units..."Ashe begins to take notes, although his attention often wanders to the cats and dogs that could never be herded out of the room. The lot of them napping in the corner.

Professor Byleth doesn't seem to think anything about the new additions to their class, and they aren't making any noise, surprisingly, so they shouldn't be as distracting as they are. Though he does catch the girls and Felix unable to stop glancing at them. Ashe couldn't blame them. Animals are cute.

Though poor Bylad seems to attract the cats a little more than he should, seeing as they were actively trying to distract him. They keep trying to climb his feet and curl on his notes, and he kept having to push them off the desk. And Mercedes was yet another casualty in his war against cats, though it was only ever for a moment.

By the look of it, Bylad probably wasn't going to be the best at utilizing cavalry very effectively. But, privately, and a bit sadly, Ashe would admit that even if he took perfect notes and had perfect recall, he wouldn't be good at leading a calvary just because it was more than likely no one would be able to understand if. Bard speak was hard enough for people not used to it to understand during ballads, but to expect a cavalry unit to understand it during battle was...unlikely, to say the least.

"You'll all need to know this for upcoming missions." The professor told them, holding up her lesson plan, "I don't expect you to lead calvary for our mission to capture the bandits, but you'll be leading calvary by the next and I expect you to have some understanding of what you're doing."

Boy, he'd forgotten all about the mission coming up. He's not sure if he's ready for it. He's never...killed anyone before. He's been a thief, but he was lucky enough to work with a crowd that had a code, so to speak. No killing unless you had no choice was one of the rules. And he's been so, so, lucky…

But it was something he had to face. If he was going to be Lord Lonato's new heir then he was going to have to learn how to defend Gaspard lands. And if he was going to be a knight then he was going to have to learn to put his own discomfort aside.

"These purrs are to seek the Assassin Bandit, yes?" Bylad spoke, trying to write something on his notes, "So the mastery of distribution of same skilled strangers between them and the Grieving Father's great mad dash against Lily Mother."

Ashe blinked, getting whiplash as he swirled to stare at his classmate, who kept writing like he hadn't said something mind-boggling. Objectively, Ashe had known that Bylad was able to see things that hadn't happened yet. That's something that was shared early on, and Lady Rhea's son was infamous for it. But knowing it and seeing it first hand was a bit different.

All eyes turned to Ashe, including the Professors, oh dear, oh gosh. Sometimes being the only Bard in the room really sucked.

"Uh, he said someone with a grudge against Lady Rhea would...try something," Ashe trailed off, his eyes lowered to his desk.

Felix scoffed from in front of him, "Like this is news? People make attempts on the Archbishop's life all the time, they're just never this public about it."

"You mentioned a...Grieving Father, right Bylad?" The Professor asked softly, her voice and face blank, Bylad froze and slowly lifted his head, hands pulling at his hood.

"The Moon of the Father's Grief rise on the next morrow, though much blood will be spilled, the Mist grows thin, as the Dead Phoenix's final arrow flies," Bylad spoked, pulling his hood down further with each successive word. 

The Dead Phoenix was new, but that wasn't going to stop Ashe from translating.

"Uh...It's next month, a lot of people are going to either get hurt or die, it'll definitely be a foggy day, and...I don't know who the Dead Phoenix is," Ashe scratched his cheek.

"Normally Bard put names in metaphors right," Sylvain said, his posture now on edge, as was the whole class, finding out there was going to be an event just short of a massacre was certainly troubling, "So Dead Phoenix is just a metaphor for a name, what is a Dead Phoenix."

"In Mythology, "the Prince began, "Phoenix's are immortal, when they ' _die'_ so to speak they become Ash—Ashe?" 

"Wait, _me?!_ I'm the one who kills him?!", Ashe exclaimed, ok, oh no, oh gosh, now seemed the perfect time to pass out. Yep, passing out **_now_**.

And with a thunk, his body hit the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah...Poor Ashe  
> -Naz

**Author's Note:**

> -Bylad has a Crestone too  
> -It's Sothis' brother  
> -This fic has a lot of OC's you'll recognize a few if you know the media we pulled them from


End file.
